A Tale of Two Districts
by TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites
Summary: AU. Two districts. Two volunteers. Four Victors. Two love stories. One brotherhood. One rebellion. Follow Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne, and Johanna Mason as they fight for each other, their loved ones, and a better Panem. Everlark, Hawson. Reverse psychology for "The Miner's Daughters", in which Gale is from District Seven. REWRITTEN.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Okay. So, here's the rewritten "A Tale of Two Districts".

There has been lots of major plot changes as the idea evolved. I wanted to create a bond of friendship between Katniss and Gale despite them being from different districts in this AU, so I had to adjust the timelines and ages again. Katniss was now the 71st Victor, having won at age 15. Gale was now the 67th, having also won at age 15. Johanna won the 69th aged 16. Peeta's victory would come later in the story as part of the parallelisms. He's Katniss's age.

I've also decided to do this from first person P.O.V, for the purposes of learning and self-growth. I did "The Miner's Daughters" in third person, so I think I should experiment and to this in first person. This would be first my 'serious', 'heavy' story in first person, though, so constructive criticisms would really help. Do let me know if there are things I need to improve on. I like challenges and learning :).

The next major decision was to focus on one timeline with flashbacks, as opposed to two different timelines. The story gels better this way in my opinion. I'm still going to switch P.O.V.s between different characters (there will be six P.O.V. characters in total, four major and two minor), so we'll still hear everyone's voices and stories.

Lastly... I'm gonna ask you a favour. If you think this is good, please review. If you think this is bad and should be rewritten again, please also review. But if you think this is mediocre, then you can hold your peace. That way, I'll know what everyone thinks :).

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing. Any character you don't recognise from THG is most probably an original character. In those instances, the characters belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Capitol, Year of 73rd Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

The Capitol. A place I despise yet can't escape, no matter how badly I've wanted to.

I've never thought I'd end up right in the middle of its vanity, its ignorance, and the sick minds who run the country. Neither did I know that it would be as vain, as ignorant, and as sick as it turns out to be. The realization came to be a little bit too late. A couple of days too late, to be more exact.

When I volunteered for my younger twin Primrose in the Seventy-first Hunger Games, I've never guessed that this would be the life I had afterwards. I wasn't even sure I would still have a life at the end of it. I just knew I had to go in there in order to save my sister. Prim, gentle Prim who wept as I skinned a squirrel for our dinner, wouldn't have stood a chance in this death-match between twenty four district teenagers.

It was only when the shock waned off and my iron will took over that I began wanting that victory so badly. That I began forming plans and trying hard to get myself out of the Arena alive, all by myself. I didn't trust my mentors at all. Not when the other kid chosen from my district was that boy whom their daughter loved. In my mind, I would be stupid to trust the people who surely wanted me dead.

I blatantly ignored all those advices they tried to get through to me. I rolled my eyes behind their backs when they told me that victory was just an illusion. I had to have that victory. I had to come back to my sister and that other person in the district who mattered to me.

I think all I had in my head back then in the Arena, once my district partner and ally were both gone, was "victory, victory, victory".

By the time I realized what I was up against, I was already a Victor and someone has already put a handsome bid for me. That's what I got for not listening to the mentors who obviously had my best interests at heart. I thought they were talking stuff. I thought they were duping me because they'd wanted to bring my district partner home and not me.

But the threats weren't empty, and neither Haymitch nor Maysilee had had that evil intention to let me die. They were merely speaking the truth to a petulant, arrogant child who'd thought she could do it on her own. A child who still thought their advices were geared towards her demise, even after she'd burst an eardrum and narrowly escaped the blade of a sword going against the first and most important one.

Once your name is out of the Reaping Ball, your life is really over. And in some ways, it's actually better to be one of the twenty three who come home in coffins than to be the one who comes home with a crown. At least those dead kids aren't bound to this life of duties and lovers. They don't have to worry about having their loved ones killed upon their so-called misconducts.

I've been lucky so far to still have my two family members and handful of old friends in the world with me, and to have gained more loved ones through my victory. These new loved ones I've gained haven't been as lucky.

I open my eyes and let those thoughts fly away as I feel the shift in the air around me. The dawn's breaking. That first light of the day has appeared, illuminating the sky above these tall buildings before me. Daybreak in Capitol isn't the same as the one back home in District Twelve. It would never be, without the woods, my bow, my sister and _him_. But until then, until I can hold them again in my arms, this would suffice. I know I won't be alone for much longer anyway. My Brothers and Sisters in Victory will soon join me here at this rooftop, once they come back from their assignments. It's one of my blessings, really: being able to live with them here in this quiet building. No one cares where we live here in Capitol, as long as we turn up for our assignments.

"Nice shoulders you have there, Catnip."

My reflexes send my body jolting. Oh, how I wish I hadn't developed those acute Victor's senses. That must have made me look like an idiot.

"Damn you, Gale!"

He laughs - _snorts_, for he does _not_ laugh - at this and plops down casually next to me. I wrinkle my nose for he smells like this dizzying mixture of Capitol perfumes.

"Gale," I tell him, "you smell."

"I know," he waves me off. "Client's obsessed with perfumes. Wait till you smell her dog, you'll know what I mean."

"No, thanks."

No response for that. Which is, to say, normal.

My Victor Brother Gale and I are the twins in our little Victors' Family. Not because we share the same birthday or something like that. He has four years and some months on me - and a foot or so, height-wise. We just kind of look similar. He shares my Seam look of olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes, despite not being a Seam. He hails from District Seven, across the country from District Twelve. Son of a tree logger, not a coal miner.

"A jacket for those shoulders?" he offers, holding up the suit jacket he has shrugged off.

"I'm good," I reject.

"Just say it smells, Catnip."

Apparently we act really similar too, according to the others. How much of it is true, I have no idea. It seems about right, though, considering he's just guessed my thought to the exact dot.

We fall into silence again, for no words are needed. Most of the times both of us are happy with just each other's company. Friendship comes so easily to us, though by no means conflict-less. He'll sometimes rub me wrong with his blind ideals and I'll drive him insane with my indecisiveness in return. But at the end, we just need each other too much to be able to hate each other. That, and the fact that there are Meddling Finn and Busybody Jo who won't let us stay mad at each other.

"Is that all?" he asks a few minutes later, glancing at my shoulders. My client of the night has left his gifts for me on them. Three scratches. Two on the left and one on the right. He's had his nails done sharp, for some reason I didn't bother asking. I've never been good at talking to clients. I don't intend to be better at it either, that I've never made the effort.

"Got a couple more under the dress," I answer him. "No big deal, though. I'll just borrow that lotion from Jo later."

"That bastard," he spits out. "Give me his name. I'll make sure I get to him somehow."

"How?" I ask him. "You still have a brother, Gale. Don't risk him."

He snorts.

"He might already be dead now," he says. "How am I supposed to know, if Snow keeps me here all the time?"

Well, Gale has a point. Snow - _President _Snow - calls him down here to the Capitol every two months or so, and makes sure he stays for at least three weeks each. That's a little worse than my deal, though still better than what the other guy in our group has. Snow once kept the poor guy here for three months straight.

"Then why are you still here?"

Another snort.

"You know."

As if cued, the other reason of Gale's forced obedience makes her appearance a second later. Her hair is messy and her feet are bare, but she's still attractive. Johanna's one of those girls who can wear anything and still turn heads. Everything, really, with those wide-set brown eyes and that strong presence you can't ignore.

I haven't heard their full story yet. From what I've heard, though, Johanna and Gale were some kind of friends growing up, back in District Seven. When he came back Victor of the Sixty Seventh Games, she was one of the few people who would still be his friend. Soon, he began seeing her whenever he was home. Then he messed up some of his assignments, and her name came out the next reaping. Snow got her thrown into the Sixty Ninth as his punishment. It didn't work as he wished, obviously. Johanna was stronger than what she seemed to be. She ended up tricking the whole nation into believing that she was weak, before finishing up the few remaining tributes with an axe.

Snow then got both her family and Gale's killed, leaving them a brother each to keep their toes in line.

I shift a bit to make a room for Johanna as she squeezes herself between Gale and I. She looks a bit tired, but her spirit's still large like usual.

"Fucking pervert," she moans loudly, slamming her back against the wall. "Must be thinking I'm a cow or something. Couldn't stop squeezing my tits."

"You're lucky that's all of your problem, Jo," I clip her wearily. "My client had these long horrible nails."

"Figured out," she waves me off. "Saw the shoulder. Must say I'm a bit disappointed he spares your face, though. That would've been a good gossip-tabloid material."

Now, Johanna is that big sister I've never had. Sometimes it's hard for me not to think that she hates me, though, all the snark and rough-handling.

"Better than you flashing news reporters away?" I shoot back at her, just because.

She just cackles and waves me off. I roll my eyes, as I watch her nuzzling Gale's face like a dog does its master. Saying something that outrageous, then acting as if things are alright. She can really be a piece of work when she wants it.

"Jo," Gale suddenly says. I shift my gaze to him, for he sounds angry. "What's with the lips?"

Now that it's been brought to attention, I can clearly see something on Jo's lips. A bit of a swell, with a faint bruise and a small cut on the left corner of her mouth. She's taken another blow to the face, from yet another client.

I know Gale must be livid, because I am. And I'm not even her boyfriend.

"Oh, usual story," Johanna brushes off. "I said something he didn't like, then he punched me on the face."

She proceeds with pressing her lips against Gale's, but he's caught her chin and held her face up before she really got there.

"Fuck," he hisses. He releases her and slams his fist on the floor. "Fuck."

He jumps up and storms in at this, leaving me with Johanna and this awkward silence between us. Johanna turns away from me, slowly. I know how much she hates sharing her pain and weaknesses with others.

"S'okay," I tell her. "It's just me."

"Nah," she says. "I'm fine. Some lotion for those scratches? They look awful, now that I've really seen them."

* * *

Johanna and I are greeted by this silence when we get back to our apartment. Gale's locking himself up in his and Johanna's room. Our Victor Brother Finnick is still out there somewhere.

"Well," Johanna says, as she thrusts the lotion bottle into my hand. "I need to go taming the dragon, so fix yourself and go find something to do."

Looks like this is gonna be a quiet day.

I decide to catch up on some sleep. There are these rude awakenings from my usual Victor's Nightmares, but I manage to catch some decent one at the end. I only get out of bed when Johanna barges in and starts ranting about lazy people and their lazy habits. She glares at me when I point her own lazy habits out, and I'm too lazy to keep fighting I just let her be. I know she'll talk to me again by dinnertime.

Dinner is a noisy and fun affair, like it usually is whenever Finnick's around for it. Him and Johanna, they hold such good banters they fill the room. They talk enough for the four of us that Gale and I can just be our quiet selves and eat away. I can't help but feeling this pang of longing whenever I watch them talking, though. Somewhere here in Panem, there's this one other talker who'll surely belong right here.

Monday's generally not a popular day for _fun_, thus all four of us are free tonight. Johanna and Gale retreat early, undoubtedly catching up on those times they'd lost to their clients. That leaves me with Finnick, whom I know is also watching them with this longing feeling. He has a girl back home at District Four - pretty much like that kind, steady boy I have at District Twelve. Someone who makes it all worth it.

"How's Annie?" I ask him quietly, once we settle on that couch overlooking our large glass window.

"She's doing alright," he answers. There's now a smile in his sea-green eyes, right next to that longing I saw before. "She can go out into the ocean again nowadays, in her little boat."

The major difference between Annie and my boy is perhaps that Annie is too a Victor. She won the Seventieth Games, the year before mine. To this day, we still hear people sneering over her victory, for many thought she wasn't supposed to win. She fell apart early on in the Games when she saw her district partner beheaded, and went a bit mad inside the Arena. No one thought she was going to survive, until the Gamemakers broke that dam in the Arena when there were only a few left. That was when Annie emerged and outswimmed all the remaining tributes to Victory.

Rumour has it - in and outside the Victor Circles - that Finnick had pulled a string to get the Gamemakers to break that dam. I've never confirmed it, though. I don't think I should ever ask Finnick that.

Considering that Annie is now - and might forever be - not totally right in the head.

"Katniss?"

"That... that's great," I stammer out, feeling a bit guilty that I've zoned out on Finnick. He's taken me under his wings my first year as a Victor. It was through him I became part of this little circle, where I'm loved and looked after like a little sister I've never been. I owe him a lot.

"Jo said you got a rather gross client," he says, looking at me. "You alright?"

"I'm good now," I answer him. "Jo gave me her lotion."

"Good, then."

He shifts closer and put an arm around my shoulders at this. When this kind of thing happened early on in our friendship, I've squirmed out and swatted his arm away. But now it's fine with me. I just sit still there, not moving closer and not moving further. This is our brother to sister comfort zone.

"You're doing really well, Little Sister," he says. There's this seductive purr in his voice, which I know means nothing. He sometimes forgets to switch his client-entertaining voice off. "You've held yourself together really well. I'm proud of you."

"You say," I tell him, as I reach up to ruffle his bronze hair. As much as I love Finnick, I realize that he's sometimes full of crap. I doubt I've really held myself together as well as he made it sound to be. He thinks he can pretend to not know those bouts of debilitating depression I've had these past two years, but I'm sure as hell he knew about everything. Finnick really knows everything, including stuff you're not meant to know.

"Hey, that's my hair!"

I laugh and release him, as he frantically smooths his hair back. Finnick cares about his appearance. As in, a whole lot.

"When are you coming home?" I ask him, once his hair is _perfect_ again. Home is the place he - well all, actually - would rather be. I know he's been dying to come back there to Annie and the ocean.

"Saturday morning," he sighs out, "if there's no change of schedule."

"They kind of can't change the schedule," I remind him. "Sunday's Reaping Day."

"Sure I won't be missed on the stage," he says, a lopsided grin on his face. "No one pays attention to the Victors anyway. They're just dying to see who volunteer this year."

District Four, where Finnick is from, is one of those so-called "Career Districts". While kids in most other districts would do anything to stay out of the Games, the kids in these "Career Districts" would fight over the right of volunteering for it. There, winning is a privilege, not a curse. Whether the Victors themselves still think about it that way past their crowning, I don't know. I know several who don't, though. Finnick's one of them.

"When are you coming home?" he mirrors, once our grins both fade.

"Day after tomorrow," I answer. "Takes a while to get back to Twelve."

It does take a long while to get back to Twelve from here on the train. It's on the other side of the country from where Capitol and Districts One, Two, Four, and Seven are.

"Lucky you," he says, happy yet wistful.

"What lucky," I snort. "Still have a client tomorrow."

A slight panic crosses his eyes, before it slowly dawns on him that we're at our own clean, de-bugged apartment.

"Watch that mouth," he then warns me, kind but stern. "Remember your boy."

I smile him this bitter smile, as I turn back to the window in front of me. Sometimes, I can't help but resenting this sacrifice I've had to make for my sister and my boy. I know I would die if anything bad happens to them, but, still, this thing is slowly killing me. I might not be as vocal about it as Gale has been, but I do want things to change.

"You sing for me?" pleads Finnick, after a minute or so of silence. "I like it when you sing."

Or, more exactly, '_I know that singing will help you forget things'. _That's Finnick, always looking after us and trying to keep us sane, to the point that all our problems become his too.

"Sure," I relent.

* * *

My Tuesday client is downright disgusting.

He speaks with this sleazy, lazy voice which puts Finnick to shame, and smokes some strong-smelling leaves. I suspect it's of those 'naughty' things my friends often warn me about.

The room's full of its fume now. Everything smells like it. I don't think I mind it too much, for it makes things easier. The thing surely has an effect. It's easier to zone out and think about my own boy with it in my nostrils.

_One more day_, I tell myself, as I catch my own reflection in that giant mirror on the bedroom wall. _One more day, Katniss, and you'll be on your way home to Peeta_.

**to be continued...**

* * *

Thanks for reading and making it here, everyone.

Now, the big question: should I continue, or should I rewrite again?


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting everyone. Special thanks to De-BardatBoston and jc52185 for their reviews. You guys all rock.

So, here's chapter two. Got this written a couple of days ago, but was hesitant to post due to ff's email notification glitch over the weekend. One question to those who know: how do you force certain order for characters you specify in your story in ff net? I've put the characters in this order: Katniss - Peeta - Gale - Johanna, but it seems to be sorted on some mysterious field it comes out as Katniss - Gale - Peeta - Johanna.

I'd also like to point out here that in this story, Madge is Haymitch and Maysilee's daughter. How is this significant, we'll see in the future. She'll still be Madge, with her quiet bravery and everything, but she has different parents in this story.

Enjoy the chapter. Oh, and if you have some time to spare, could you please tell me what you think by clicking that review button? The feedback will really be valuable for me, and for this story :).

**Disclaimer: **All belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing the characters and the settings, and moving them around. All the supporting O.C.s (which will overlap with the set I have for The Miner's Daughters) belong to me. Feel free to contact me if you want to use any of them, I won't mind :).

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**District Twelve, Year of the 73rd Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

My train arrives at District Twelve sometime between lunch and dinner on Thursday. I hop off it as soon as it stops. I just have to see my twin.

_Have I messed up? Is she even alive now?_

The surge of relief that washes over me when I spot her near the station gate is indescribable. For a moment or so, I feel free. Free from the fears. Free from the pains. Free from the victory.

"Little Duck."

"Big Duck!"

She runs over to hug me. I have to rebalance myself, for she nearly knocks me over. One other thing I don't regret from my victory, aside of the friendships I've made through it, is the money it brought for my family. Three years ago, Prim wouldn't have been able to knock me over. She was just this tiny little thing. Now, she stands an inch taller than me, and has these curves I'm sure has turned many heads here in District Twelve. Little Duck is now a Swan; Big Duck stays a Duck.

We've never looked alike. Apparently we kind of did when we were much younger, but I can't really remember that time. Prim takes after our Merchant mother - blonde, fair skinned, blue eyed. We look way too different to be siblings, let alone twins. I've been told that the whole Capitol went into shock when I introduced myself as "Katniss Everdeen" after volunteering. They thought I was just some excited kid who'd wanted to be in the Games.

For the thousandth of time or so, my brain reminds me that _he_ looks even more like her than I do.

"How've you been?" she asks, once we've had that hug.

"Alright, I guess," I answer. I will never ever tell Prim what I actually do in Capitol and how I actually feel about it. I don't want her to feel guilty about having me volunteering in her place. She doesn't need to be. "How about you?"

"Just fine," she says, beaming so wide I can see all her teeth. "It's never the same without you, though."

"Never the same without you too, Little Duck."

We make our way back to our house at Victor's Village. It's part of my Victor's perks; one of the only few mansions in our district. The neighbourhood's nice and quiet, with only two occupied houses out of the ten. Our house, and the one near the entrance where the Abernathys live.

Where my friend Madge used to live.

_Madge. Colton. Colton's blood all over my clothes. His bloody hands thrusting Madge's golden pin - her mother's pin - into my hands. His last request that I look after his girl._

"Katniss?" Prim's concerned voice rings. "You alright?"

I open my eyes and let the memories fly away.

"Yeah," I lie to my sister - again. "Just a little bit tired."

Prim just looks at me.

"Madge," she says quietly. "You're thinking of her again."

"She's my friend," I say.

Prim takes this sad glance at the Abernathy's house. Now that Madge's gone, it's pretty much quiet. No one plays the piano anymore. Not her younger brothers. Not even her mother Maysilee who'd taught her. And especially not Haymitch. He couldn't play, and even if he could, I know he wouldn't be able to. The man really loves his daughter.

"No one heard anything yet," Prim whispers as we walk away. "There was this information that someone saw her just outside District Six, but it turns out bogus."

Long story short, Madge's currently missing. She fell into depression after her boyfriend Colton Spinner - my district partner - died in my arms during our Games, and disappeared without a trace when I was in my Victory Tour. By the time her parents arrived back in Twelve with me, she'd already been gone for five days. Haymitch and Maysilee had to make this heartbreaking decision of faking her death, for she's pretty much over. The Capitol would at least cut off her tongue and send her to slavery if she's found.

Having done so, they have never really given up on finding her. We've been spreading this quiet words in our Trusted Victors' Circle about it. Some of them - think those Morphling addicts from District Six - aren't actually much help. Nevertheless, we did get some useful information from some others. People have apparently made successful escapes out of Panem, and Madge might have been one of them. Her name's not on the list of those muted slaves Capitol makes out of runaways - the _avoxes_.

I decide to let the subject pass, for I'm too tired to deal with it for the time being.

We arrive at our front door a few short minutes later. Prim opens it for me and in we go, into our warmly decorated foyer. Nothing has changed since I was last there a couple of weeks ago, except the picture on the wall. _He_'s given us yet another of his paintings.

"That's made for you, by the way," Prim points out, as if it isn't obvious. "Your namesake."

Our parents named us after flowers. Mine is a water spud, Prim's these lovely soft yellow things. The painting on the wall bears my flower. Three white round-ish petals, with a purple centre. I've never thought it actually looked this pretty, until I stood here before this work of art _he_'s made me.

Prim's moved on into the lounge room, so I trail along. No one's here at the moment, though I can hear this faint conversation taking place somewhere further back. Mother and Maysilee, discussing what sounds like the happenings of our district. They must be having one of their tea catch-ups.

"Maysilee and the boys are here," Prim says. "Haymitch's having a bad day."

"Oh, well."

Haymitch usually spends his bad day locked up in his study with a few bottles of cheap liquor. He's pretty harmless, actually, but I understand why Maysilee would want to keep herself and the boys away. It must be really hard for them, watching him all broken like that.

"I'm gonna lie down in my room," I tell my twin as I head for the stairs. "I'm pretty exhausted."

"Okay. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

That's my twin. Always nice and understanding. Always thinking about others. Just like _him_.

My room's pretty much untouched. It's obviously been cleaned for my arrival, though - fresh sheets, spotless dresser, and all. I swap my travel attire with a comfortable sleeping shirt and doze off. A terrible decision, I must say, for I end up waking up from nightmares about Colton, three times in a row.

I give up sleeping after that. Perhaps it'll be much easier later when I'm _really_ tired.

Mother and Maysilee turn me down when I offer to help them with dinner, so I join Prim and the Abernathys' twin boys in this weird board game instead. I don't remember bringing this thing home from Capitol, but apparently I did. Whatever reason I bought it for, I'm glad I've brought it home here, for it makes my sister and my best friend's brothers happy.

By the time we're called for dinner, I've already lost the round and had to squat-walk the distance between our lounge room and the kitchen.

"You're so slow, Katniss," the older Abernathy twin scolds me.

I flash him my signature scowl, for surely he doesn't know how sore my knees are after that weird session on Tuesday.

Maysilee takes the boys home after dinner. Now that they're gone, it's only me and Prim here in our kitchen. Mother's gone back into her room, most probably to continue mourning Father. That's what she mostly does whenever she's not healing some sick person or talking to Maysilee.

"Katniss," she says quietly, as soon as we hear the click of Mother's bedroom door. "Tell me."

"Huh?"

She looks at me.

"What actually happens in Capitol?"

"What do you mean?" I ask her back. "I shot this television program with Finnick Odair and the guys from District Seven. Nothing else."

Her eyes narrow at this.

"You're lying," she then says. "I can see it in your eyes. Katniss, please."

I throw my head back and close my eyes. _Heavens, why does this have to be so hard?_

"I'll talk to you about it later, okay?" I finally tell her, as I get up from my chair. "I've gotta go somewhere now."

To tell the truth, I'm not actually in an absolute hurry. _He_ can wait. I doubt _he_ even knows I'm back in town, in fact. I just don't really want to answer that question.

"Katniss!"

I ignore that and just walk out of the back door, making my way to his home in town.

* * *

As usual, his bedroom window is open. I haul myself up through it with the help of that damned trash bin and the flakey windowsill.

"Katniss."

"Peeta."

He closes that small distance between us and pulls me into his arms. I close my eyes and inhale. He smells like the usual stuff: cinnamon and sugar. Like the baker's son he is.

We started up as childhood friends. Well, him and Prim became friends, and I tagged along. The friendship he had with me was never as smooth as the one he had with Prim, but it was him whom I'd come to whenever I was troubled. He convinced his father to give Prim a job in their bakery when we lost our father, and used his birthday money to buy some of those animals I poached because I refused to just take the money.

When I became a Victor, he was one of those friends who'd stayed. He was the one who'd found me that day as I trekked back home from The Hob - our local Black Market - with six vials of morphling. It was right here, in this small room with a single bed, a dresser, and a mirror that I told him what they'd made me do. That day, he kissed me and confessed his love. I know I should've done the right thing and let him go, but I couldn't. So a couple we became. A secret couple - the only kind of couple my current occupation permits.

Eighteen months later, we're still each other's biggest secret, though something has shifted in me. Somewhere along the way, I began to realize I've, too, felt something about him since we were kids. And now there's this unbearable pain in my chest just from imagining a life without him. As my Victor Brother Finnick put it nicely, Peeta has crept up on me. Peeta's my love now, one of the reasons why I still exist.

"How long have you been back?" he asks as he releases me.

"A couple of hours," I answer. "Didn't feel ready to come here, so I waited. Sorry."

A smile. That's all that I get. No complaints. No frowns.

"I've missed you," he then says. His eyes meet mine, and I surrender as he presses his lips - gently, gingerly - on mine.

"I've missed you too."

Another kiss, then a third, passionate one. Hands lifting shirts and pulling down pants, greedily yet gently exploring. We've truly missed each other.

"Let's move to the bed," he whispers, his voice thick with longing and emotions. "Let's be together tonight."

"Yes," I whisper back, choking on my own emotions.

We move to the bed, where he continues loving me in all his passionate gentleness. No pain. No shame. My body opens up to him like it does no one else. It let him touch and kiss. I choke on a sob when we connected, and moan out freely when I finally see those stars with him.

"When do you have to go back there?" he asks, as I lay in his arms afterwards.

"Sunday," I mutter, bitter and reluctant. "I've got to mentor."

"Ah, yes," he chuckles out, shaking his head. "It's Reaping Day."

"How can you not remember that?" I ask him in disbelief. "You're still eligible this year."

"Guess it doesn't matter anymore," he says. "The worst has already come."

"What's worse than getting reaped?"

He looks down at me, gentle yet sad.

"Watching Prim getting reaped, then watching you volunteering for her."

He bows his head and kisses me at this, invoking these sweet yet painful emotions in my chest. Here, in front of me, is the boy I'd rather be with. Yet I know I have to take whatever is given to me, to stay behind that line, just so that he can live.

I wonder how he feels now, holding a girl whom he knows belong to a million others.

"Katniss?"

_Damn. _I must have gotten too emotional, for there are some tears on my cheeks.

"I'm fine," I tell him as I rub them off on the back of my hand. "Just gotten carried away, that's it. I wish I can only be with you."

There's this flash of pain in his eyes, as he again presses his lips on mine.

"I'll volunteer," he says. "I'll volunteer this year, so that we can be together there in Capitol."

"Ssh," I chide him, pressing my finger on his lips. "Don't. You're too good for that. Promise me you won't?"

Again, that flash of pain crosses his eyes.

"Alright," he finally relents. "I promise."

* * *

One hour each night, in the privacy of his bedroom. That's all we have this time, for I'm too scared to give him more. I can't afford to let people know what we've been doing. Finnick learnt the hardest possible way that Snow has spies all over the districts. One careless display, and Peeta would be well on his way of becoming the next Annie Cresta.

We do have a little bit more time together, though, the morning of the Reaping Day. Prim has invited both of us to her annual pre-reaping gathering, along with her other friends. The thing is held at the Meadow near our district fencing, and there are ten or so other teenagers it's damn easy to sneak out. Me, Peeta, and a secret private time in my old Seam house that we still own. I hold on to every second of it in memory, for that will surely be the last _thing _I enjoy for a while.

And indeed, it's so enjoyable I almost got both of us late for the reaping.

"Where've ya' been, huh?" Haymitch hisses at me, as I join Maysilee and him at the side of the reaping stage. I know I'm almost late; there's only a minute left before the thing starts if my watch's correct.

"Somewhere," I answer him, without giving too much details.

Our escort Effie Trinket appears thirty seconds later and all those bullshit propos start. Haymitch, Maysilee, and I make our way onto the stage on cue, right before the real reaping starts. She introduces each and every of us, though I doubt it's needed. I'm sure they all remember. District Twelve only has three living Victors for the moment, less than any other district here in Panem. Although, now that I've thought about it, District Seven's actually a close runner up with four living Victors.

"Ladies first!" Effie exclaims.

_Not Prim_, I chant. _Not Prim. Not her friends too._

"Lyss Denton!"

Thank heavens. Not anyone I know.

I sit there on my spot, as Peacekeepers escort our female tribute from her spot in the fifteen year olds' section. She's just another Seam girl, really. Dark hair, grey eyes, olive skin. Built so slightly I don't think she'll do well in weapons, except if she turns out to be District Twelve's version of Johanna Mason.

I don't know what I'm gonna do with her. Yet.

"Boys!" Effie exclaims again, once Lyss is settled and secured on top of that stage. "Ted Birkin!"

Again, someone I don't know. Looks like the odds are in my favour this year, just like it was last year.

Ted turns out to be this averagely built eighteen year old from the Seam, with this vacant look in his eyes. He seems unfocused and unaware, as they push him up here onto the stage.

I hope he's just high on something, not mentally disturbed.

They are announced once again, before escorted away into the Justice Building. Maysilee sighs, and Haymitch rolls his eyes. Our lineup this year definitely doesn't look good.

"Let's go waiting for our car," Maysilee decides, after a minute or so of sitting clueless on our seats. "It shouldn't take more than an hour."

We all leave the stage and wait on the Justice Building steps. The cars will come right to the end of this steps - I know this from my Games, and the Games from the year before. No one's really here. Our only companions are some Peacekeepers whose faces we can't even see.

"Who's gonna watch the boys?" I ask Maysilee, once we're settled.

"Your Ma," Haymitch snaps in. "Who else?"

_Who else_. That's yet another reason behind Haymitch's drinking and cynicism, I know. The way he won his Games angered our President, who ordered for his family and childhood sweetheart to be killed in return. He fell deep into the bottle that year, before his district partner's twin sister rescued him. They got together, only to have her torn away from him and put in the Games two years later. Against all odds, Haymitch's new girl Maysilee came out victorious. It again angered the President, who then ordered for her parents and brother to be killed.

Thus, my question about who the boys were with was actually pretty dense. There was no one else here they could leave the boys with. Not after Maysilee's other friend - who used to look after Madge - passed away.

I sit there in silence from then on, watching my mentors arguing like the married couple they are. A married couple with tons and tons of personal issues I must say. Their victories and the consequences. Madge's disappearance. Mentoring tributes they usually don't get to bring home alive. I don't think they would've stayed with each other had they not really loved each other.

"Katniss."

I turn my head to the familiar voice. There stands Peeta, in his white shirt and dress pants. The Reaping Day clothes which has never seen the light of any other day of the year. He's got his unruly blonde curls slicked back, yet his eyes are the same kind, gentle blue ones I've learned to love.

"The boy tribute, Ted, hasn't been mentally sound for years," he barges in, before I can even ask him anything. "I wish to volunteer for him."

"Too late, Boy," Haymitch waves him off. "Come back next year."

"Haymitch!" I hiss.

"Yes, Sweetheart?" he challenges me. "I'm just telling the young man here the truth."

Maysilee chooses that very second to touch my arm. With a surge of gratefulness, I realize that Haymitch was saving me. I would definitely have said something which reveals to these Peacekeepers what I have with Peeta. Snow would've been notified that Peeta's more than just my sister's best friend.

"He's right, my Boy," I hear Maysilee saying next to me. "He can't be volunteered for now. He's officially a tribute."

"He won't stand a chance," Peeta pleads. "Could you guys do something about this?"

"No, unless you count mentoring," Haymitch says dryly. "Which is what we're doing now."

From where I stand, I can see Peeta's shoulders slumping slightly. Looks like he's giving up.

"Alright, then," he says, reluctant and sad. "May the odds be ever in our favour."

"May the odds be ever in our favour," we echo him.

* * *

The hour just went by, and so did the next few. Before I knew, I've already boarded the train, gotten to know Lyss a little bit more, confirmed that Ted was indeed mentally disturbed, had dinner, and watched the reaping recap.

It's now bedtime. Or, more exactly, attempt-for-bed time.

The bed's comfortable. The compartment's dim and peaceful. The train wheezes swiftly past the trees, towards the West where The Capitol is. I'm exhausted. Sleep should've come so easily.

Except that it doesn't.

I miss my Peeta already.

**Coming next: Gale - Capitol, Year of 73rd Hunger Games**

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone, and hope you like it. If you do have some comments or feedback, please don't hesitate to use that review form at the bottom of the page. I'm happy to hear from you all :).

I've got the next six chapters in dot points and drafts now, so I'll put Chapter 3 up in a few days. It'll have the usual Games fanfare, and Gale's voice ranting out about the Capitol, his friends, and his girl.

Till then!


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **The first chapter with Gale's voice. Pardon the expletives, and hope you enjoy!

Thanks to all my readers, followers, favouriters (hello AnarchyGirl, my newest one! :)) for their support. Many special thanks to my reviewers: nothing2000 and jc52185. You guys are all awesome!

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing. My OCs are mine.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Capitol, Year of the 73rd Hunger Games**

**Gale**

The same station. The same people. The same stupid, outrageous, degrading ideas.

I push my tinted glasses up the bridge of my nose so they can't see the rage in my eyes. Here they are, waving and clapping and screaming, as I march yet another two kids to death. Sometimes I wonder if it's a brain or a heart they're lacking.

As usual, they've laid out this aisle for us to walk through, lined up with these velvety ropes on golden stands. Behind it, I can see some familiar faces. Some clients. Some people I've met in parties and clubs. And, of course, the psyched news reporters. They're currently busy with weaving through the crowd, trying to keep a pace with our entourage.

"Gale! Are you really Katniss's half brother?"

"Gale! Is that true?"

"Gale! Gale! Look at us! Can we have an interview with you and Katniss about this?"

I snort. That has been going around for a while now. Apparently some gossip magazine editor just got really bored one day and decided it would be a great cover material.

"He is!" Johanna hollers back. "Their real surname is Abernathy!"

_Troublemaker._

She laughs off that glare I give her and prances on. Obnoxious, inappropriate, daring; that's how she's always been, ever since I can remember. When and how exactly I fell for her, I have no idea. It could've been that "creeping up" thing Finnick mentioned in one of our liquor-assisted heart-to-hearts. It could've been something else which I'm yet to know. The bottomline is that I love her, somehow. She completes me.

As I glance sideways, I can see our tributes gaping. Whether it's this whole setup or Johanna and I that they're gaping at, I don't really know. The girl, Miana, is sixteen. Sawyer, the boy, is slightly older at seventeen. They're not really kids, but I don't think they've ever been out of Seven before. I don't think they've ever seen this much of Johanna and I before, too. We don't really go around much whenever we're home. Seven's no Two, where you'll get this lifetime of admiration for winning your Games. What we've got for winning our Games is a lifetime of shame and guilt and secret stares from our own neighbours.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

Our cars await us in front of the main entrance. Two identical small things, painted in brown and green just like trees. _Trees_. I bet my bottom coins that we'll see Miana and Sawyer dressed as trees for tonight's Tributes' Parade. Just like Johanna and I and everyone else from Seven were.

I confirm it later that evening, once we've ridden the cars to Remake Center and spent a couple of hours waiting as they prepped the kids. Twelve chariots barging through the streets around the City Circle, towards the Training Center where the twenty four tributes will stay until their Arena time comes. And of the twelve, there's one with these two trees, one taller than another. The seventh chariot, of course. Johanna groans and swears loudly when she sees our tributes in our old Tribute Parade costumes. She, too, hates the thing.

"Trees, trees, always trees," she rants on, as the Training Center lift takes us up to the Seventh floor. "Why can't we get someone like Cinna?"

"Because he chose District Twelve," I answer.

Cinna, who was Katniss's stylist in her Games, is this talented guy with a flair for symbolism and shock. He'd been one of the reasons why Johanna was ridiculously jealous of Katniss before they actually met. The man's no longer styling for the Games now, for some reason no one actually knows. He currently lives in a studio at that shady part of Capitol and does this work designing for a Capitol streetwear label. Katniss still visits him from time to time 'just for a chat'. I'd like to think that she's telling the truth, though I have no idea why on earth she wants to talk to a Capitolite. To me, they're all the same dogs.

The Seventh floor is still that same thing we left earlier this year. The lift foyer, the dining room, the lounge, everything. Including mine and Johanna's corner bedroom.

Victors normally keep the bedrooms they'd used as tributes when they come back to mentor. That corner room is Johanna's, originally. I moved in there from my next-to-guest-bathroom room the year of Katniss's Games, when I realized that was where I'd actually been sleeping since Johanna started mentoring. It's decorated in deep brown and warm red, with this wide four-poster bed in the middle of the room, a gigantic wardrobe on the wall opposite the window, and the standard-issue programmable window she's now tuning to display the conifer forests of our home.

"Welcome home," she says in a mock Capitol accent. "It's fake, obviously, but nothing's real here."

I snort. All sarcasm and wit, my girl's really funny.

"Except me, of course," she corrects herself later.

"Prove it," I tell her.

And, of course, she takes off all her clothes. Predictable. I've never really seen her in anything more than her underwear whenever we're home alone. Call me a fool, but this doesn't actually make her less exciting to me. If anything, her free spirit just leaves me wanting for more.

"We've got thirty or so minutes until Daaynne starts banging on our door," she says, quickly glancing at the bedside table clock. Daaynne, who's this tiny Capitol woman with tree-shaped wig and too many unnecessary letters in her name, is Seven's escort for this year. "Can you do it, Soldier?"

'Soldier' is a nickname Johanna gave me when we started getting close. It originates from our childhood, she said. I don't think I remember much of those days anymore, aside of the fact that she was almost guaranteed to always get into fights with me, but Johanna apparently still remembers how much I liked that game of mock-battle. My brother Rory, who is her age and is to this day her best friend back home, confirmed that it was indeed true. Thus 'Soldier' it is, whether or not they're trolling me.

"If you make me," I challenge her back.

Of course she rises up to the challenge, right there and then against the window. We crawl to the bed together ten minutes later, exhausted and panting but grinning like cheshire cats.

"We haven't checked that it's not actually see-through," I glumly tell her, as I stare at the proof of activity we left on the window.

"Hell cares," she shrugs it off. "Aren't we... _adventurous_ anyways?"

I know she's censoring herself. If it was up to her, and there weren't any of these goddamned bugging microphones scattered in this floor, I know she would've said 'whores'.

"Sure we are," I agree.

She falls into a power nap shortly afterwards. This has been her sleeping style since her Games; I don't think she's ever slept the full night anymore. In her Games, she was constantly on the run and couldn't afford to be not vigil. Afterwards, she was as broken as me and the other Victors were, haunted by the ghosts of these other kids who had to die just so that we could live.

Me, I can't sleep whenever I'm not tired. And I'm not yet exhausted, that I just spend my time laying next to her, watching her hardened features softening in her sleep. Right now, she looks just like that brave, perceptive girl who'd come up and talked to me at the back porch of my Victor's Village home.

I still remember that late autumn day, and her brazen, unwavering gaze on me. That was when I started confiding in her, I think, in a way only the two of us understand. We became real friends that day, and stayed friends until the end of my Victory Tour. Something changed during the time I was away. Once we were together again, this teenaged explorations began. Soon, we found ourselves sneaking into each other's bedrooms at night, dodging Peacekeepers, nosy neighbours, and our own families. I made her a woman the day before the Sixty Eighth reaping as we both fretted for her safety. She escaped it that year, so it all continued afterwards. Until I messed up and she was thrown into the Arena the next year.

I've had to share her with many other men since. Which pains me, though I know it would pain me more to lose her to the Games.

"Stop that train of thoughts, Hawthorne," she scolds me sleepily, snapping me out of my trance. "You think too much I can't sleep."

Well, sometimes I do forget that she _knows_ when I'm lost in thoughts.

Daaynne's loud knocks come soon afterwards. I rouse Johanna and we dress up, heading for the lounge room outside. There wait Daaynne, the tributes, the stylists, and the other mentor Blight - who was my mentor in my Games. Seven's oldest living Victor Shay isn't coming this year. His heart has been failing him throughout the last year. I think his days are pretty much numbered.

"You've already missed the wonderful opening remarks!" Daaynne screeches, as we settle on our usual loveseat. "Claudius and Caesar have some interesting theories this year!"

"Sure they do," Johanna shoots back lazily. She's being sarcastic, I know. She doesn't really give a dime of those speculations the Games' Announcer Claudius Templesmith and the Games' Presenter Caesar Flickerman made. I don't care, too, for they're usually wrong.

The large television screen on the wall now replays the whole Tributes' Parade, shot from so many different angles it looks even more ridiculous than it already was. I can now see clearly that the kids from One have see-through costumes, and that Twelve's stylists have again replicated Cinna's idea for Katniss: flaming coals. Something looks wrong with the boy from Twelve, though. He's not yet a Victor, but already looks like one of those unlucky ones. Eyes vacant, and mind so absent he nearly fell off.

"I think boy Twelve's challenged," Johanna says, rather quietly, as the thing wraps up. "I'm gonna go talk to Brainless after dinner, so don't wait for me."

'Brainless' is her nickname for Katniss. I let her go and talk to our friend, for Katniss surely needs that. Johanna's the better talker of us two.

I spend a bit of time working with Blight and the kids on their strategies after she left. It's mostly Blight doing the work, with me butting in here and there. The only tribute I've ever really helped with strategies was Johanna. Not that I don't care about the others. I still drink over those little memories of the short days I spent with them, over the little things which remind me of how each of them were. I just can't think of Games strategies without hurting my own head. The Capitol's doing a great job degrading us Victors, even the lucky ones they don't sell. Each year, we'll have to sit down with two kids who might end up killing each other, and helping them formulating plans to kill kids from other districts you know your friends are mentoring. Turning friends against friends. That's The Capitol.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

That's what I chant in my head, as we disband and make our ways to our rooms. Johanna's still not back from her little chat with Katniss. Those two are actually closer to each other than they'd like to admit, I think. It won't surprise me at all if I'll end up sleeping here alone tonight, whilst Johanna has an impromptu sleepover at Katniss's.

Now, sleep. I don't think I'm ready for it yet. I'm not wiped out enough to be able to do it. I can already picture what would happen if I insist. I'll drift off to this sleep of boredom, then I'll see some bloody bodies or talk to some dead people and wake up with a jolt. It's been like this for _six bloody years_ now. Blight said sleep would get better with time. I'd like to believe him in this, though so far mine hasn't gotten better.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck you Capitol._

I mutter out a curse and settle for a trap-designing session in front of that window where I had Johanna earlier. Finnick and Johanna teased me endless when they first found out my little hobby. They nicknamed me "Volts Jr", after Volts, the Victor from Three who spends most of his time doing this stuff. It eventually died down once we all got to know him better, but until today, Johanna still likes reminding me about that. She says Volts and I can easily build a Hunger Games Arena to rival those of the best Gamemakers. I don't think I appreciate the way she compares me with those Gamemakers, obviously, but I think she's right. If only the Games is for Capitol kids, I'll happily jump into Gamemaking and design a trap or two for their Arena.

My inspiration for tonight is the memory of my own Games. They tricked us tributes blind that year. None of the weapons in the Cornucopia were real. The real weapons were all hidden throughout the Arena, concealed in everyday objects such as water bottles and umbrellas. It would serve them Capitolites right, I think, if I could send them these deadly traps in those fashion stuff they love. Lipstick-shaped dart guns which trigger when twisted, for the ladies. Cufflinks loaded with sharp invisible wires for the gents, so that they could be stylish while bleeding to death from their wrists. Rings...

_A ring. The Sixty Seventh Games. My district partner Elaine. A trembling hand removing Johanna's brother's ring from another, placing it on my little finger. Her pale lips turning blue, as the poison extinguished the life in her eyes._

I rip off my sketch and shred it to pieces, flushing it down the toilet with the dinner which comes back up my throat.

* * *

I spend the remainder of the night with a bottle of honey-colored liquor, first by myself then with Johanna as she comes back from Katniss's place. She, too, wants to forget. We're still trying to forget our Games.

The next three days pass without any significant news or events. Miana and Sawyer train. Blight sleeps in, eats, talks to the kids, then sleeps again. Johanna and I hang on to each other and to our friends, while trying to keep the kids' spirits up. The kids from One and Two - the _Careers _- are such arseholes this year. They bully both our tributes and some others, and make cruel jokes about that mentally ill boy from Twelve.

The third night, which is the final night before the Individual Trainings, brings some interesting things.

First, at dinner, there's this request from our girl tribute Miana, whom as far as I can tell is very much a people person.

"The girl from Twelve, Lyss, is really cool," she tells us over dinner, as Blight makes Sawyer and her go through the strengths and weaknesses of the other districts. "She's fast and smart. Can I ally with her?"

Blight looks at Johanna and I. Our friendship with Katniss is no big secret. If we really want this alliance with Girl Twelve, all we have to do is call Katniss and ask.

"Actually, I don't want Twelve," Sawyer butts in. "Lyss is cool, and I feel sorry for the boy, but I don't think I want to risk my life for him."

Miana shoots him an angry look and crosses her arms on her chest. He flinches. I conceal my snort with a cough and give Johanna a gentle kick under the table to tell her that I've made my choice this year. It's Miana, by far and wide. She's the one with true grit.

"Well, guys," Johanna butts in, as she kicks me back in agreement. "If you can't agree on who to ally, then you'd better go your split ways. Sounds good, right?"

"But..."

That's Sawyer, starting something then trailing off. It's hard to imagine that this boy's actually Katniss's age now, and that he's older than Johanna had been in her Games. He's been so immature and wimpy, right from the moment he got reaped. And I swear he's not copying Johanna's strategy of pretending to be a coward here. He really _is _a coward.

"Actually, I'd take that," Miana says bossily. "I'm gonna ally with Lyss."

"Sealed," Johanna says. "Now, we don't have more time to watch you two bickering. Let us eat in peace."

And she's not lying. We truly don't have more time. Or, more specifically, Johanna and I truly don't have more time. We've been called for yet another Show Duty tonight.

The second interesting happening, of course, is the Show Duty itself. Our usual chauffeur collects us from the Training Center's front door right at eight PM. He nods at us, and we nod back. There's no need for words, for he can no longer speak. He's been made an Avox, for whatever mistake the Capitol thought he made.

He can still joke, though. He shoots us this questioning look after we both strap ourselves at the back of his car, foot on the brake and hands still on the steering wheel.

"Oh, get lost," Johanna sighs out, flipping him a finger. "You know where we're going, sucker."

He grins, and off we go. To The Theatre.

'The Theatre' is literally a theatre. A stage in the middle, with some viewing areas around it - although, unlike any other theatre, it has this one-way mirror which prevents the performers from seeing their audience. And 'Show Duty' is essentially putting on a show, though I've all along questioned the sanity of whoever is watching _that_ show. I watched some other Victors' show once, when my client of the night took me. There was nothing I got from it, apart from chills and a mental image which wouldn't get out of my head. I still can't look those two Victors in the eyes today.

"Here we are," Johanna sings, as we drive down that secret performers' entrance of 'The Theatre'. "Break a leg, Hawthorne."

"You too, Mason."

We go our separate ways as we walk through that performers' door, to our respective dressing rooms. The show prep team - the same one which does all the boy Victors, I learnt - get me ready for the show, then it's off to the backstage for me. It's freezing in there, and this thin, rippable shirt doesn't help. I guess I'm still having a better deal than Johanna, though. She'll walk in here in near nothing.

She joins me about fifteen minutes later, her shoulder-length hair curled and her face done to an abnormal perfection. And yes, there's very little on her now. A sheer, see-through slip, and a really little underwear.

"Five minutes," she says, as she checks that clock above the stage door. "Work me up, Lover."

I let out my sigh of hatred and disgust as I take her in my arms and do what I can to help. This, too, is one of those things which don't get any easier or better with time. One of those things we can't just bail out of, without getting our brothers killed in one or more of those Snow-orchestrated 'accidents'.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you Capitol._

**to be continued...**

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone. Hope that wasn't really disturbing (the idea of 'Show Duty' and everything else).

Next chapter is still Gale, in the Capitol. Some Gale/Katniss friendship moments there, and more and more angsty thoughts about Capitol.

Till then!


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Hello! Thanks for reading. And thanks for following and favouriting, too! Many special thanks to jc52185 and axes tridents and snares for their reviews. You guys all rock :).

This is one of the longest, fastest chapter in this story. Here I'm riding on the events of the 73rd Games to explore relationships between characters and more of their personalities (especially Katniss's mentor persona and that of Gale's). A couple of plot points important for the future here - pay specific attention to conversations :).

Without further ado, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing. The only characters I own are my OCs, and even these are developed for Panem settings so I guess they're partially SC's.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Capitol, Year of the 73rd Hunger Games**

**Gale**

I start the day of the Individual Training Sessions by sleeping right until my alarm beeps. Which can only mean, I've successfully exhausted myself the previous night.

Blight's sleeping in as usual, and thus the kids become mine and Johanna's problems. We train them separately. It's agreed that Johanna would train Sawyer, for she's the better actor. I don't think I'll be able to hide from the boy that we're going to choose his district partner instead.

Cruel? Yes. Our fault? No.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

Miana is a decent tribute with a good set of ears. I'm done training her in less than an hour, there are no more things I should encourage her to do or caution her against. The only thing left for me to do is to talk to whoever is free from Team Twelve regarding the alliance request. Should be fine, whomever of them I'll end up talking to. Katniss's my Victor Twin, Maysilee's nice to everyone, and Haymitch, well, I get along famously with Haymitch. We get each other really well, perhaps because we both hate Capitol's guts.

The person sitting alone in the lounge room when I get to floor Twelve is Katniss. She looks downright exhausted; messy braid and dull eyes and all. I don't know if it's a client or if it's just mentoring stress.

"Tough one, Catnip?" I ask her, as I plop next to her.

"Yeah," she answers me. "I..."

She looks around, before lowering down her voice.

"I'm worried about Ted."

So, mentoring stress it is. Ted's her mentally ill boy tribute.

"What's exactly with him?" I ask her.

"He's just not aware of anything," she answers exasperatedly. "They'll get him straight away."

I pat her leg, for there's nothing else I can do. Katniss would be really lucky just to get that boy not to walk off his plate too early and be blown to pieces.

"How's your kids this year?" she asks me, once she's calmed down again.

"Pretty good," I answer. Now's the perfect time to bring up that alliance request, I suppose. "The girl, Miana, wants to be your girl's ally. She'll take Ted too, if needs be."

"You sure?" Katniss asks.

"That's what she wants."

There's this bit of pause as Katniss purses her lips in thought.

"Make it Miana and Lyss, then," she decides, after a minute or so of agonizing. "Ted..."

"Won't make it through bloodbath," I finish off for her, as my big brother instinct kicks in. I can't let my little sister say that. Not when it's the Capitol's fault that the boy would die in bloodbath, not hers.

"You said it," she comments weakly.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

Poor girl's leaving for an assignment soon, thus I clear off her way. Floor Seven's alive with banters when I get back. Not from the kids. It's my mentor Blight and my girl Johanna, discussing a million different ways of getting the legendary score of zero in Individual Training. Daaynne is there with them, laughing in high pitch with every catastrophic scenario they make.

Looks like I'm the only true adult here, after all.

I send the kids off to the lift after lunch with a good luck wish. We've passed them secret messages not to brag too much, just so that they won't end up with some high score and get headhunted in the Games. I hope they'll still remember that when they get to the training floor.

"I'm meeting that manslut Odair at the rooftop," Johanna tells me when I get back to our room. "Wanna join?"

"Sure," I answer. It's a miracle at all to be spending time with Finnick these days, for he's always 'on demand'. A time like this surely shouldn't be wasted.

I get into the lift with her, and together, we head for the rooftop.

The Training Centre rooftop is way fancier than what we have in our own apartment building. It has this garden and a view of the Capitol like no other. Oh, and a force field.

The memory of this particular force field is one of my few favourite memories. It happened my first year of mentoring, when I was this sixteen year old boy with a lot of pent-up angst and conflicting emotions. I'd just come back from a particularly bad assignment, with this client couple who had things for young boys. My girl Johanna was back home, my only friend Finnick in his own assignment, my mentor Blight with the tributes. Not knowing what to do, I've wandered off to that secret basement I've heard the older mentors mentioning. There, I was found by Haymitch, the mentor from Twelve, who then brought me up here to the rooftop instead.

"_Ya' feel like jumpin', don't ya'?" _he asked me.

"_Nah_," I answered him. "_Just... sad, I guess._"

"_Good on ya',_" he commented. I looked at him, as he picked up a small decorative stone from the rooftop park. "_See this._"

He then aimed it over the edges. I watched, in this strange awe and excitement, as the thing zapped on something and bounced back.

"_The Arena's like this,_" he then told me. "_Ya' think it's got no limit, but it does._"

I've been trying to find out more about the thing since then. So far, I've gathered that it's basically some form of electricity which weaves to form this shieldlike thing. Being able to destroy it means being able to free the tributes from the confines of the Arena, and that's my current obsession. No one knows about this but Johanna, who's interested but can't be bothered spending her time poring over books and experimenting. I don't even tell Finnick and Katniss, because I know they'll fear for my life and tell me to stop. Stopping is out of question for me.

"Here he comes," Johanna sings out. I let go of my thoughts and focus my eyes on the direction she's looking. There he is, all bronze-haired and tanned-skinned glory. My Victor Brother, Finnick Odair.

"My brother and sister from Seven!" he slurs, as he strides towards us. "Haven't seen you in days!"

He hugs Jo, then me. I slap him on the back at the end of it.

"How's this year for you?" I ask him once we settle on some park benches.

"Pretty bad," he answers, making a face. "My kids are... alright, I'm not supposed to tell you guys this."

"Don't tell me they've fallen for each other," Johanna comments, rolling her eyes. "That would be a first, and a tragedy."

"Thankfully not," Finnick denies. There's relief in his face as he says this, as if he's just realized how bad what Johanna suspected would've been. "The world would end if that's the case."

"Oh, don't you talk shit," Johanna chides. "It'll take more than two lovestruck kids to end the world. Have any of us, or Annie for that matter, ended the world?"

He doesn't agree and doesn't disagree, so she quickly grows bored and talked about other things instead. That's what Finnick and Johanna's conversations are like, fluid and rapid. I think they could've hit it off pretty well, if only there's no Annie and there's no me.

"Hey, who do you think would win?" asks Finnick, as they brush the topic of the Games' current bets.

"Meh," answers Johanna. "Don't care."

"Gale?" Finnick turns to me.

"Probably District Two," I tell him my honest opinion. "They must be furious to have missed four victories in a row. Their last Victor was, what, Sixty Eight, right?"

It's definitely Sixty Eight, now that I've remembered it again. That girl was a piece of work, a total sadist who laughed as her pack gored out other kids - my boy tribute included. Whether or not she's still one nowadays, I don't know. She's one of those two Victors I now can't meet in the eyes; her and her Show Duty counterpart Sixty Six, to be more exact.

"Who was it last year?" Johanna asks casually. "Boy One, right?"

"Yep," Finnick answers. "Or, as we know him now, Mr. A-Diamond-A-Date."

A-Diamond-A-Date, who won last year, is this extremely good looking boy whose hire cost exceeds that of any of us according to one of Finnick's clients. We worked out that we'd be able to get a pretty big diamond with what we'd need to hire him for a night, and thus the nickname was born.

"Hmm," Johanna humms. "Maybe they'll try to get Girl One to win. They'll want a new Matched Set soon."

'Matched Set' is the term our Capitolite clients use to describe pairs like Sixty Six and Sixty Eight, Finnick and Annie, or Johanna and I. Two Victors from the same district who won relatively closely to each other and are around the same age. Popular for, big surprise, 'Show Duties', though so far they're yet to request one of Finnick and Annie's. I think Annie's too crazy for their taste.

"Or Boy Twelve," jokes Finnick glumly.

"Oh, come on," Johanna playfully scowls. "You know they don't like people who are mentally... _abnormal_, don't you?"

"Yeah," Finnick answers. "Which is lucky."

Of course, lucky. Finnick's Annie hasn't yet had to serve any single duty for the Capitol. To start with, not many Capitolites have a taste for a girl as unstable as the post-Games Annie is. With that deal Finnick made Snow that he'll double for Annie, her potential client number is now zero.

"Catnip cares about him," I mention, as I recall my earlier conversation with Katniss. "It's one of those normal new mentor's feelings, though. I don't think she'll jump fires and swim oceans to save him."

"Glad she won't," Johanna sneers. "I don't think a threesome would cut it this time."

Finnick looks down guiltily.

I shoot Johanna a look. She's definitely stepping out of the boundaries of jokes here. Yes, there was a threesome involved in Annie's victory. I can't remember the details of it, for I've gotten myself pissed drunk beforehand, but I did help Finnick in this.

"Pre-scoring drinks?" I offer, as I get up. That's the only thing I can think about to save the situation right now.

"Sure," Finnick gets up.

* * *

Though it was just an on-the-whim idea to start with, at the end, I'm glad we had the pre-scoring drinks.

They're reading out our kids' scores loud on the television now. An eight for each. That's a little too high for my likings, to attention-grabbing, and I know that would be too high for Johanna too. If only we're not nursing this tipsiness, we won't be able to control our tempers.

"That's good!" Daaynne exclaims, as Caesar and Claudius move on to Eight. "It's better than Johanna's!"

"Oh, shut up," Johanna balks. "Part of my strategy, you know."

Johanna has somehow managed to score a _one _in her Training four years ago.

Caesar and Claudius is now discussing Twelve. The boy's got a three - unsurprisingly. And the girl, Lyss, an eight. Looks like all of them, my kids and Katniss's kids, are really done.

I don't remember much of the night, except that Johanna and I drink some more when everyone else's asleep. She's gone when I get up the next morning, for the kids' interview training I suppose. Blight happily lets me sit out of it, for apparently I didn't really help the times I was there for our previous tributes.

I spend the day hanging around with Katniss in the now empty Training Floor, at the Archery Station. Archery is one of those things I only share with her. That's how we both won our Games in our respective years. She's better than me in this, for she's done it her whole life. I've only discovered it when I trained for my Games. It's still fun trying to gang up on various moving targets and static ones, though. I think we've fully ransacked the Training Floor by the time our escorts come yelling for us, telling us that it's dinnertime.

Dinner at Floor Seven is its usual affair, with Daaynne's vapid remarks, Blight's attempts on wisdom, and Johanna's occasional sneers and sarcasms. The kids are quiet. I think it's finally dawned on them that there'll only be one day left before they'll be thrown there into the Arena. And that tomorrow's the interviews, their last chances of securing sponsors - at least, what they think would be.

I let them be, for I understand. I'd locked myself in my room the night before my Games interview. My prep team ended up calling in some Peacekeepers from downstairs to break the door the next day, so that I could be prepped and sent down there for the interview. For a while, I became the only tribute who'd succeeded in giving their prep team troubles. That was, until Katniss repeated this stunt two years ago.

Johanna and I retreat to our room after everyone else. We've got a lot of pent up steam to release, and that's what we do with the help of a steamy shower.

"I called Rory," she tells me, as we lay down to sleep afterwards. "He says things are alright back home, at least as of now."

"Good," I comment. Johanna's always called my brother to check on Seven, whenever she's away.

"Sven's started working in the Paper Mill. He's got your old job, apparently."

"Good luck to him," I say. Sven is my district partner Elaine's little brother whom Johanna's family took in after Elaine's death. He's a calm, nice boy, with a huge interest in machineries and science. My old job maintaining the machines in the Paper Mill suits him well.

"Gotta throw the kid a party when we get home," Jo continues sleepily. "It's not everyday you survive your final reaping."

"Great idea."

To tell the truth, I don't know how I feel about that. Celebrating it means acknowledging how much fear Capitol's instilled in you about this whole reaping fiasco. But the fact that Johanna's adoptive little brother is spared the accidents and the reapings means that Snow hasn't yet killed more of our loved ones. It's not exactly something to celebrate, too, but it's impossible not to be glad about it.

_Fuck you, Capitol. Good job playing your mental games with us._

Johanna falls asleep at this, though, so I don't say anything. She's pretty much forgotten about the idea when we wake up on interview day, getting all picky about what she'll have to wear to the interview instead.

"Take this back," she tells her stylist, shoving the poofy dress onto the woman's chest. "I'd rather turn up naked."

Against my real desires and opinions, I manage to coax her into putting up with the crap. I can't help but feeling sorry for her, though, as I look at her and her spilling poofy skirt on this interview stadium seat next to mine. She looks like a little girl. A toy doll version, to be exact.

"Nice skirt," sashays Cashmere from District One - Victor number Sixty Three - who sits in front of us.

"Thanks," Johanna replies, sweet and innocent. "I'll give you my stylist's number, for when you finally sack your lame one."

I snort and glance over my shoulder at Katniss who's hiding a laughter herself. Johanna and her share this mutual hatred for Cashmere, who's been a true bitch to them both.

The interview starts a short while later, after that nice little warning that we're now on air. Caesar Flickerman, the presenter, has chosen a weird shade of pink as his theme color this year. His hair, eyelids, lips, and suit are all pink, and somehow I'm rudely reminded of what mean kids back home call a... oh, nevermind.

"Welcome to the interviews of the Seventy Third Hunger Games!" he exclaims. "In a short while, we'll get to know more about the twenty four young people we've become well acquainted with this past week. But right now..."

I zone out for a bit, for this is a little mundane. Caesar's currently got A-Diamond-A-Date on that interview seat, and they're having this banter about victory and lavish Capitol lives I know is mostly bullshit. It's the first time since they year after Finnick's that they brought the last Victor back up to the stage for the interview. Sixty Six, me, Sixty Eight, Johanna, Annie, and Katniss had all been spared that, probably because we don't bullcrap as well as Finnick or this boy do.

The interviews from Districts One and Two turn out to be the same old bore they're presenting each year, so I've pretty much zoned it out as well. The kids from Three look scared and cautious. I don't blame them, for they're both twelve years old. Finnick's kids are confident and pleasant like usual. I hope they'll stay this way once the Games started and they join that Career pack they usually do. Five's being mysterious. I think one of their mentor is a big fan of this angle. Girl from Six sniffles throughout her interview, because she's apparently 'got the flu'. Boy from Six is high on something. None of his answers make sense.

My own kids do pretty well, I think. I'm not sure what angle they're using, but their materials are memorable. Miana talks about the 'friends' and 'enemies' she's made in training. Sawyer tells Caesar some funny training stories revolving around _himself_. Pretty much conceited, but not a bad material I suppose.

Eight's standard. Nine's cowering. Ten's their rowdy cowboy selves, like usual. Both from Eleven this year are brooding and quiet. I don't think the other kids would want to mess up with them in the Arena. Lyss from Twelve reminds me of Katniss and Johanna a lot - their real selves, that is. A small girl with a lot of presence and a force turning the audience's heads towards her. She'll surely be popular in the circuits if she wins, she...

I cut off my train of thoughts and berate myself for thinking of such an ill fate for a little girl. Especially one who looks a lot like my dead baby sister, Posy.

Ted's interview is... well, a disaster, to put it mildly. He doesn't speak. He's not even there. The boy's truly and totally gone for good.

Finnick, Johanna, and I take Katniss up to the Training Centre rooftop after the interviews end, just to let her vent out. We know she'll need it. This is only her second year mentoring.

"He's gonna die," she cries, as Finnick holds her close on a park bench. "He's gonna stand there, and they're gonna gore him out."

"They _might_," Johanna, who's crouched down in front of her, corrects. "And if they do, that's only the Games. Only one could live, Katniss. You know the rule."

Katniss cries harder. I don't know if I should scold Johanna for being so frank, or thank her for putting out the truth. Sometimes it's hard for me to balance between protecting Katniss and getting her to face the truth as it is. A Victor she is; a kid too in many ways. She's tried really hard to grow up, to stand on her own feet, to be strong. Yet she's young, and there are so many things she needs to learn to survive this cruel world of victory.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

I leave all the talking to Johanna and Finnick since they're the ones who know how to. I'm never good with consolations.

We all disband to our respective floors to spend what potentially are our last hours with our tributes afterwards. From tonight on, we'll all spend our time in the Mentor Viewing Center, which is another building a few blocks away from here. We won't see the kids again, except the one who outlives and beats the others. Twenty four in, one out. That's how it's been each year, except on Haymitch's year where they had forty eight in and one out. It was the Fiftieth Games, the second of these special quarter-century editions called the Quarter Quell. We'll have another one coming in two years. There's been speculations of what twist it would bring this time.

Dinner's laid out when Johanna and I walk out of the lift at Floor Seven, so we sit down and have the last dinner with the kids. If my hypothesis is correct, Sawyer would've been dead by this time tomorrow. Miana might last longer, depending or not she'll manage to get to Lyss and escape the bloodbath. Call me heartless for being so pessimistic about my tributes, but optimism is never the rule of the Games. Deceit and manipulation are the rules.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

The kids are, like yesterday night, quiet. Miana cries openly as she hugged each of us mentors one last time before we leave. Sawyer, obviously, falls apart. I don't think I've ever seen a more genuinely blubbering, trembling mess before.

"Stay away from the Cornucopia," Blight warns them for one last time, before he enters the lift with Johanna and I. "No one from our district has broken this rule and lived to tell the story, except this lucky bastard Gale here."

I roll my eyes, for he surely hasn't let it go at all. I guess I really gave him a hard time when I made that impulsive dash towards the Cornucopia in my Games, only to find that it was loaded with fake weapons.

We get to the ground floor, then to the door. An unknown chauffeur drives us away from the Training Center and to the Viewing Center. The thing's grey and dull, and is probably guarded by more Peacekeepers than it is necessary. Apparently mentors do get into fights sometimes, and when they do, it'll quickly turn deadly. I haven't had the privilege of witnessing one throughout my time here, but Haymitch and Blight have both seen quite a few. Each of those, they said, had involved someone from District Two. Typical, considering how the kids from two generally are.

"Gotta catch some sleep," Blight mumbles as we walk through the front door. "See you kids tomorrow."

Knowing Blight, 'tomorrow' really means 'tomorrow after midday'. There's nothing we can really do about it, though. Not without taking away that sleeping drug he always relies on to get his rest, and getting him not to sleep at all for days.

"Sure," I find myself saying. "Goodnight."

And I really mean the 'good' my goodnight.

* * *

I wake up in the Viewing Center bedroom assigned officially to me, next to Johanna. Every year, we've always ended up in my room, even though we're assigned our separate bedrooms. Nothing beats the comfort of your own girl - or your own boy, in her case - after a long day watching kids hunting and murdering each other.

My girl's awake already when I open my eyes. Sitting up against the headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest. There's this light tickling movement on the sheets as she traces patterns on it with her fingers. She's deep in thought.

I catch her hand. She smiles and greets me with this sweet, vulnerable kiss.

None of us is actually ready for this day.

I walk into control with my tinted glasses about an hour later, resisting the urge to eat even though I'm pretty hungry. One important lesson from my first year mentoring was that eating before bloodbath is a bad idea. It's better to eat later when you're done mourning your tributes if they're killed; or get the Capitol crew to hook you up on a drip if your tribute survives. That was how I'd survived when Johanna was in the Arena - with the help of a drip.

As predicted, Blight's not in. I make myself comfortable on one of the chairs at Seven's viewing station, as I keep my eyes on Katniss. She's sitting next to her mentor Maysilee at her own station; Haymitch standing behind them. Like me, she's got her tinted glasses on.

She, too, is not ready.

"Stop staring at Everdeen," Johanna scolds, as she plops down next to me. "You're not fixing anything."

"Are you?" I ask her.

"I don't, but I know I can't," she answers, harsh and cold.

_BEEP._

That's the first buzzer, which tells us mentors that the tributes are ascending soon. I tear my gaze off Katniss and turn to my screen, where my girl tribute Miana is now shown in her tube.

_BEEP._

That's the second buzzer, which means that everyone's up in the Arena. I figure that out already, for my screen now shows the golden Cornucopia and a couple of other tributes on the sides. Looks like I'm seeing it from Miana's perspective now.

"Forty," Johanna counts casually next to me. "Thirty nine. Thirty eight. Thirty seven. Thirty..."

I tune her out, for I know where it all leads to.

_BEEP._

Time for action.

I lean forward, just to feel closer to the heart of the action. Miana's now running across the field, right to the spot where Twelve's girl tribute Lyss is. I can't really see where their district partners are, but I think I've just heard Johanna groaning. Looks like Sawyer is indeed over.

"NO!"

And that's Katniss. Ted is over now. For real.

"Go to Brainless," Johanna orders, nudging me out of my chair. "I'll watch the girls."

But that's not necessary, we find out, as that boy from Two chooses that very moment to slice through both Miana and Lyss with his sword. Both of our screens are now black. Not five minutes since it all started, both our tributes are gone. And so are Katniss's.

I take off my glasses and let Johanna drag me towards Twelve's station, where Katniss is thrashing in her mentors' arms. We'll have to take her to the medics to get that shot of sedative now, before she hurts herself or does something stupid and gets shot in the head for it. Sedating your own Victor Twin, right on the day you lost yet another two kids you've grown accustomed to. Isn't that fantastic?

_Fuck you a hundred million times, Capitol. _

**Up Next: Peeta - District Twelve, Year of the 73rd Hunger Games**

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone, and thanks for making it to the end of this long, jam-packed chapter. It'll slow down a bit from here on, until we pick up again in the next year's Games in Chapter 11 (if the current dot-point draft doesn't change).

Five's ready to launch, and will be posted in a couple of days. Gear up for Peeta's first POV chapter! He's the most different, most difficult (surprisingly!) to write for me, but I like the way I'm writing him in this story and I hope you guys all will :).


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Thanks for reading everyone. And thanks for following and favouriting. Special thanks to De-BardatBoston, jc52185, and axes tridents and snares for their reviews. You guys are really, really awesome.

So, without further ado, here's Peeta's first POV chapter. There's not much I can say, except that Peeta is perhaps the hardest character I've ever done P.O.V. for. There are just so many things which make him Peeta, so many dimensions. I hope I'll get all of them across alright.

**Disclaimer: **All belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing. There's no profit made from this piece.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**District Twelve, Year of the 73rd Hunger Games**

**Peeta**

The Seventy Third Games is still on, but life's gone back to normal in our district. At least, for everyone but the Birkins and the Dentons, who lost their children not even five minutes into the Games.

I see them every day, as the Peacekeepers herd them to that daily mandatory viewing at the square. Like many other Seam families, they don't have televisions, and thus are taken to the square so that they could view the Games Recap. I must say the Birkins are in a much better shape than the Dentons. They must have long accepted that they would never see Ted again after he left for Capitol.

I wish I'd been strong enough to break that promise I made to Katniss and volunteer in his place.

Wishing won't fix anything, obviously, so I've never mentioned that to them. I make a point to deliver them some bread, though, whenever we have leftovers. Like many other Seam families, they won't just take the bread without paying, so I take their offer of Ted's old clothes, which I later take to the Community Home for I can't bring myself to wear them.

I also deliver some bread to the Dentons, who are still really shaken over the death of their daughter. Lyss had actually been a top seed in the Games, at least among the tributes who aren't Careers. One careless mistake of passing next to the District Two boy, and she and her ally were gone. I can still remember how the town square went entirely still afterwards. I was, myself, shocked. It's hard for me to fathom how easily that boy had slashed through two small girls, and how he could still smile after doing that.

Today is the tenth day of the Games. More than two thirds of the tributes are gone by now, including two unlucky Careers. It'll all be over soon.

I start my day baking as usual, willing myself to work harder as it helps me forget all those disturbing things I saw. Prim, Katniss's sister and one of my best friends, picks me up from the bakery, and together we walk to school. The day goes like usual: being in the class, learning about mining coal, learning about Capitol's 'greatness', then, lunch break.

"I saw Lyss's sister crying again today," Delly quietly tells our group, as we sit together for lunch. "Must've been really hard for her."

"It is hard," Penny comments. Prim takes her hand and squeeze it at this, and she squeezes back. Of all of us, Penny is the only one to have lost a sibling to the Games. Her older brother Colton died in Katniss's arms during the Seventy First Games, after the girl from Two stabbed him.

"Would you be alright to talk to her, Pen?" I ask her carefully.

"Not now, Peet," she answers. "I don't think it's the right time. She'll still want to be alone."

I leave it to her, for obviously she understands it better.

A few more hours pass, then it's home time. I walk together with the group, then we part ways as we reach the end of the town. We all live in different places. Penny, Delly, and I live in town with our Merchant families. The boys live at the Seam, with their coal mining families. Prim used to live there too, before Katniss won The Hunger Games and they moved to Victor's Village.

Today's one of those days when I don't have afternoon shifts, so I walk her home just so that we can have a private chat. Poor Prim has always walked home alone, since Katniss stopped going already. There was this other girl in our group, Madge, who lived there with her Victor parents, but she disappeared during Katniss's Victory Tour.

Madge was dating Penny's brother - and Katniss's district partner - Colton at the time of his reaping and death. I remember her being all distant and sad between his death and her disappearance, kind of similar to how Katniss and Prim's mother had been after their father died. All her parents and friends' efforts helping her didn't work, obviously, for she still lost her mind and chose to go at the end.

"Things are a bit rough currently," Prim tells me, as we walk that deserted road to Victor's Village. "Peacekeepers came interrogating Ma and me yesterday, they didn't totally believe that Madge 'died'."

To cover up for Madge's disappearance, we'd all created this story that she died. There was even this funeral, in which we'd buried this empty casket. The Peacekeepers wouldn't want to do the nasty job of digging in a grave and examining a dead body, let alone the body of the daughter of two Victors. I'm pretty sure they're dead scared of Haymitch and Maysilee, especially Maysilee who'd won her Games just with a blow gun.

"Were her brothers there?" I ask Prim, as I remember that the Everdeens are currently taking care of Haymitch and Maysilee's twin sons.

"They were," Prim confirms. "They were really good, though. Didn't come out of their room even a second."

"Wow," I chuckle. "I've never known they can actually sit still."

"They can, when they need to," Prim says, grinning. "They've just been raised not to take orders without questioning the necessities."

"Haymitch," I comment, chuckling more. It's no secret that our male Victor doesn't take orders from anyone. People thinks he's just crazy or bullheaded, but Prim and I have another theory. We believe that he's actually smarter than what he lets on.

"Who else?" Prim asks back, winking.

We let the topic slide and talk happier things, as we approach the Victor's Village entrance and walk in. Prim and Katniss's mother would be furious if she'd heard us talking all these sensitive issues. Mrs. Everdeen was adamant not to let her daughters get into trouble for talking things out loud. When Katniss was younger, she got scolded a lot for raising issues and questioning various things about the way Capitol ruled Panem. I think that was how she ended up becoming this quiet girl with a burning inferno in her soul.

As for Prim, well, Prim's smart and witty. She's not one to speak carelessly, unlike her twin, but it doesn't mean that she's less fiery. She just burns a different way, with a soothing bright flame instead of her sister's raging blaze.

"See you early tomorrow, Peeta," says Prim as we stop in front of her house. "Don't forget the Recap tonight!"

Now, that last sentence is the proof of Prim's own fire. Said just really casually, really innocently, whilst there's a hidden meaning underneath. I know she's not saying that because she's interested in the Games. It's her way of reminding me not to forget how unjust Panem is, and how cruel Capitol is towards us.

"Sure," I answer her.

She disappears behind her front door with that one last wave to me, straight into the excited screams of the Abernathy twins. Looks like everyone's indeed safe.

With that reassurance, I turn around and walk home to the bakery. There's this sketch of Katniss which won't get out of my head now. I was about to draw it yesterday night before bed, but then I fell asleep because I was just exhausted. It's now dancing vividly in my head, reliving itself in the most punishing, tantalizing kind of way.

I really have to go _there _now. Where it all happened.

The Seam, which I pass on my detour, is pretty much empty at the moment. It's only four; the miners must still be at work. The kids must all be inside, for the heat's sweltering. There are these occasional non-miners who pass by in the midst of doing their trades; I wave at them as they wave at me. I've known the Seam ever since I was a kid. This was where I went after school, with Prim and Katniss. Pa started sending me to their place every third day or so when he knew I was friends with them. He said that their mother was a kind woman with lots of love, who would surely have no trouble loving a child like me. It's basically his attempt in filling in the role of my late mother, who passed away when I was really small, in my life.

Mrs. Everdeen was - and is - indeed very kind and loving. She wasn't the only blessing I received from this place, though. I gained new friends in all those Seam folks I grew up around and learned so much more about life.

Some people are less fortunate, but it doesn't mean that they're less than you.

My trails of thoughts come to a halt, as I finally get _there_. It's gotten bigger than it was the last time I ventured here, but this is still our slag heap. It was here, at this very place, that my then secret crush Katniss has given me a memory of a lifetime.

I still remember that summer night. It's a little bit cold, for some reason, though not as cold as a night of any other season. We were fifteen back then; driven mad by our teenaged curiosities and the fear of the impending Reaping Day.

"_You sure_?" I asked her.

She looked at me. There was this little flicker of doubt in her eyes. She was hesitant.

"_Doesn't have to happen, you know,_" I said back then. I knew I would feel disappointed if she cancelled, but I knew it was wrong to go on when she didn't want to.

My intention of backing off, though, pushed her forward instead.

"_No,_" she said. There was something flickering in her eyes. Something bigger and different. Some kind of fire. "_I had this dream where my name came out, then I someone killed me when the Games started. If that thing is to happen, then so is this._"

"_Katniss,_" I tried reasoning with her. I knew it was foolish, that I should just go with it, but I couldn't. "_It might not be you at all. Four slips. That's all you have._"

I knew I was correct. The number of slips you've got in the reaping ball is proportionate to your age. Starting with one, when you're twelve, then you get one more each year, until you have seven of them at age eighteen. I knew that there were lots of kids who'd let the Capitol put extra slips for them in exchange with some food for their family, in this scheme called tesserae. But I knew, too, that Katniss and Prim didn't have those extras. Everyone who'd cared about them had made sure that they wouldn't have to take any.

But then, she looked at me and said, "_eight. I'm volunteering for Prim if she's picked._"

I'd wanted to tell her that Prim was strong, that Prim would be alright, that Prim could survive the Games in her own right. But I knew I shouldn't come between their sisterly love, and thus I held my peace.

"_I'll give you one more chance, Katniss,_" I said, as I looked at her. "_Do you really want this?_"

She stepped back. And reached for the hem of her shirt.

There was no turning back after that.

We became each other's firsts that night. A week later, I watched her stepping forward to volunteer for her sister, as Prim's name was called out in the Reaping. She went into the Games and came back this changed, broken person.

It was only after that we really got together and became this secret couple.

I run my hand on the surface of that Slag Heap, as I breath out all the pains that memory brings. I think I really miss my Katniss, however broken, however damaged she is now.

I love my girl.

* * *

That night, I started that sketch of Katniss's brazen, fiery expression she had as she gave herself to me that first time.

The sketch is now finished, and the 73rd Games over. Our Victor this year is the boy from District Five. He'd played the Games really well and used his brains to survive. He did have to kill the two final tributes when they got to the final three, but apart from it, he just survived. Prim and I agree that we like him better than those Career Victors from One and Two.

He was crowned in this ceremony two weeks ago, looking distracted and somewhat fragile. Prim and I watched him on that big screen in the square, together with our friends and families. I hoped that I was wrong, but I had this feeling that he was distressed because he knew the kind of fate which awaited him. The kind of fate Katniss and the other Victors, including Finnick Odair and the Iron Couple from Seven Gale Hawthorne and Johanna Mason, have.

Maysilee and Haymitch are back in Twelve now. She takes care of their sons and does various things around the district to help people in needs. He keeps to himself and occasionally helps out people trapped in unfortunate situations involving Peacekeepers and the rules. Our older Victors are settling back into their semi-normal lives, back in the arms of their friends and sons.

Meanwhile, Katniss is still in the Capitol. I heard from Prim that Snow's keeping her for an extra month there, to do some other assignments.

"_I know I've asked this a million times, but I'll just try my luck one more time,_" Prim said, that day after she received Katniss's call from Capitol. "_What is she actually doing in Capitol?_"

I looked at my best friend, the twin sister of this girl I loved whose secrets I've sworn to keep.

"_I don't know,_" I lied, finally. "_She's never told me._"

"_Okay,_" Prim sighed. There was this disbelief and disappointment in her eyes, though, which told me that she wasn't at all buying my story. As the only person in District Twelve who'd known about me and Katniss and our secret relationship, she surely knew I was lying.

I shake that memory out of my head, as I make my way out of the town. The day's still early and the streets empty, but this is the time for me. There'll be no time later. My Pa and brothers will need my help in the bakery.

The Seam pass by my side. The familiar Meadow expands before me, bringing back those childhood memories of playing some children's games with my friends. Those days are over now. It's time to play a different game.

I walk on, further out to where Katniss's favourite segment of the district fencing is.

She'd taken up hunting animals out in the woods after that mine explosion killed her father. We were maybe eleven or twelve back then, just kids. But Katniss Everdeen had braved it all, for her twin and their mother. The fact that her twin had a job and was bringing bread back home didn't stop her from doing this. She knew she needed to help, and she did what she could. This segment of the district fencing, with this hole on the ground underneath, was the entrance of her workplace. The thing she went into and out of every day, in her quest to provide some meat and income for her family.

And this, too, would be the thing I go into and out of every day. In my own quest, to do what I can to help Panem and the districts.

I lower myself down on the ground and hold my breath in. It's a close fit, but I slide through. For the first time in my life, I'm standing on the other side of the district fencing on my own. It's me and me alone now, against this vast wilderness in front of me.

There is a tree with a hollow on its trunk somewhere in this woods. I let my imagination map out where it exactly is, as I move further. Alright. I finally find it. There, inside that hollow, is Katniss's bow and arrows. Now, I'm too heavy-footed to hunt, and we're not in need of meats I need to make some kill today. But if I'm to survive, I'd better carry something with me. Katniss once showed me how to shoot. I think I did pretty much alright, though I'm nowhere near as good as she is.

The bow and arrows is my weapon of the day. A defense mechanism, not one of destruction.

There are some trails on the ground. Here, these are most probably alright. But not in the Games, based on what I've watched so far. Whatever looks obvious in the Arena is often a trap, set by either the Gamemakers or other tributes trying to stay alive and come back to their families like you are. Thus, I decide to venture off it. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not scared here. I'm scared; scared shitless, even. But I'll have conquer this. I'll be fine. Katniss had done this for years and come out fine. There had been these people, back when Panem was still North America, who'd made a hobby out of adventuring out in uncharted woods. There is definitely a way of doing this.

I pull that pocket knife out and mark a tree next to me, just to help me finding my way home.

_SWISH._

Something's moving near to me. Now, what do I do?

_SWISH._

It's still moving. I can hear where it comes from now. On the ground, through the short bushes.

I look at it. It doesn't look at me, but it does run.

Just a bunny rabbit.

I meet some other friends of his as I get in further into the woods. And some squirrels. And the occasional snakes. Oh, and some Capitol-created hallucination-inducing wasps called tracker jackers, and their nest. Those, I leave alone. I know they do kill. They are _mutts_. Capitol creations, designed to destroy and harm you. First used in the first rebellion, then in the Games. One more danger realized for the day.

After some time of walking, I reach a clearing in the woods, across which I can see more and more trees. I check my watch. Halfway through my allocated time. Time to go around, I suppose.

I have a look at the sky, though, as a measure of time estimate. From tomorrow on, I'm gonna leave my watch. Watches aren't normally allowed in the Arena.

Going back takes a little bit longer than expected. Some of my markers aren't good enough, and I confuse something else for them. This is definitely something to fix for the future, if I'm to survive.

Surviving. Is that even my goal? I suppose so, partially. There's this part of me who wants to survive. Part of me who wants to live, to hold Katniss in my arms, to make her my wife, to father some amazing children with her. But there's this other part, whose goal is to make a difference even in the expense of my own life. The martyr, as they call it. They always say someone like him is a fool, but to me he isn't. He's just some really nice, selfless person.

I snap out my train of thoughts, as I realize that I'm still here in this self-devised training. A good tribute doesn't lost himself to his own thoughts. There's no room for such errors in the Games.

So I walk on. And on. And on, until I can see that tree where Katniss stores this bow and these arrows. I put them back in there, exactly like how I've found them. The ability of removing one's own traces is also a good thing for the Games.

Then it's back to the district fencing, and under it. The day's starting now; I can see the miners walking down the streets of the Seam. Preparing to go to the job which might one day be the death of them.

I wave at some of them who recognize me, then make my way back to town to get ready for school. Some muscles in my body are screaming at me now, but I know they're nothing. I can definitely make a whole day at school with them. The woods is just the beginning. There are other types of situations I'll have to learn to face. Other kinds of Arenas I'll need to study and analyze, and as much as possible recreate here in District Twelve. There'll be time for combat, too - I think I can just wrestle my brothers as usual for this.

Eleven months and a bit. I think this is doable.

Haymitch Abernathy, our male Victor, gives me a faint wave of acknowledgement as I pass him. He's heading to the Mayor's house again; perhaps to discuss some way to get some poor Seam person out of trouble. That's how he redeems himself. He might never show it, but I know it'll be impossible for him to just forget the tributes he's mentored. Twenty three years; two Victors. Forty four other faces he'd seen and trained, only to be slain. Forty four other scared, unwilling children of District Twelve.

I clench my fists and square my jaws as I continue my walk home. District Twelve is not going to lose an unwilling, scared boy next year. I'm going to volunteer. And I'm going to play the Games my way. Not The Capitol's way.

**to be continued...**

* * *

And that, everyone, is my interpretation of Peeta.

I hope I've done an alright job with him, but do tell me if there are things to improve. I'll happily take all the feedback into account.

See you with chapter 6 in a couple of days! It'll still be Peeta :).


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Okay, so here's chapter six. Thanks for all of you who've read the story so far, followed it, and favourited it. Special thanks to jc52185 and axes tridents and snares for their reviews. You guys are all awesome :).

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins. Just borrowing here.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**District Twelve, Year of the 73rd Hunger Games**

**Peeta**

My days without Katniss pass relatively quickly this time. Probably because I'm training and making plans for the Games, so much that I don't have time to sit around wishing she's here. Before I know, two more weeks have passed. She's gonna be home soon.

"_Katniss has called_," Prim told me yesterday morning as we walk together to school. "_She's going to board the train today, so she'll arrive tomorrow._"

And it means, today. Katniss's gonna be home today. She'll be free from the Capitol until they decide to call her down again. It won't be for a couple more months, I think. They don't normally call her back-to-back, unless her last assignment ends just before the Games or the Victory Tour.

The fact that she'll soon be here put that extra spring in my steps. It amuses my brothers. Now, they can't stop teasing me.

"So...," my middle brother says, as I bound into the bakery after school. "Is this Delly, Penny, or... Prim?"

I chuckle sincerely. It really amuses me.

"No," I answer him, as I give him that playful shove on the shoulder. "Someone else."

He raises a brow, but lets it slide, as the next second he's busy with his kneading again. We've always tried to get a headstart for the next day by starting our baking preparations in the afternoon. Some kinds of doughs proof overnight, and failing to start now means no bread tomorrow.

I help my brother manning the counter that afternoon. Pa's having a well-deserved day off today, and my oldest brother's spending time helping his pregnant wife. My nephew or niece will join the Mellark clan this late Autumn. There's another one on the way, too. My middle brother's catching up. His wife's still having morning sickness now, so it'll be a while before my second nephew or niece is here, but I think I'll be around to see both of them.

I haven't told anyone about my volunteering intention. I don't plan to tell anyone, in fact. No one would like this, I know. They'll all worry about me. I'm afraid my resolve will weaken once someone begs me not to go. One of the things I hate doing is hurting the people I care about, or any other person for that matter.

The bakery shift, too, goes really quickly. Before I know, my brother's left, and Pa has called me for dinner. It's only the two of us here now that my brothers have both moved out. The house's much quieter without them. Nevertheless, knowing that they're settled down and happy brings me a joy of my own. Compared to me, my brothers didn't have the best of childhoods. I don't really remember our mother, but my brothers told me she used to hit us when she was angry. Both my brothers were old enough to remember every blow she gave them.

"You're a bit... different nowadays, Peet," he says, as we're about to finish. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, nothing Pa," I lie smoothly. "School's just getting busy."

To tell the truth, there's no way you can get busy with school here. It's always about coal mining, basic mathematics, and those Capitol Studies stuff they've been repeating to you since you were little. But it's the only reason I can use at the moment, and so school it is.

Pa just nods, then turns back to his food. He might still be suspicious, for all I know, but he clearly doesn't show it. He's not one to be forceful or persuasive.

After dinner, I retreat to my room. Pa still hasn't said anything yet. Perhaps he's just giving me some space. Or, perhaps, I'm that good of a liar and he buys all of it. I do hope it's the first, instead of the second.

It's only eight, so I wait. Katniss doesn't normally turn up until a little bit later. She likes doing this when everyone else's asleep and unaware. Apparently President Snow has this cruel habits of killing the Victors' loved ones when they don't comply with his rules. Katniss told me that Haymitch and Maysilee had both fallen victims to this cruelty. She didn't tell me what their exact flaws were in the eyes of our President. But the important point is that their families are all dead now, and all they have is each other and their sons.

I sit down with my little book of Arena plans, where I've sketched out what I remember out of the last few Arenas.

Finnick Odair's Arena - Arena number Sixty Five - was this uninhabited island with a large body of water outside it. The tribute most used to a live at the sea had the most advantage, and that was, of course, Finnick.

Sixty Sixth was this desert, where it was either win quick or die.

Gale Hawthorne's Arena, the Sixty Seventh, was this place which looked like an abandoned tribal village laden with traps and unexpected surprises. This Arena favoured creative tributes, with minds quick enough to recognize traps and construct weapons from given components. Gale won it by fashioning his own bow and arrows from some random stuff the Gamemakers placed in the Arena.

Sixty Eight was some freezing cold place where, like in Sixty Sixth, you had to win quick.

Johanna Mason's the year after was this rocky mountains with a small forest Area and large area with shrubs and lots of short plants in the middle - a tundra. The tributes were dressed brightly so they were highly visible to each other. It was either kill everyone or hide long enough for the bullies to weaken - if you were small enough for the limited hiding places. Johanna hid herself really well. That was how she won, primarily.

Seventieth was built along a river, with waterfalls and a dam. That dam ended up getting broken at the Games' finale, drowning everyone but Annie Cresta who was the best swimmer of them all.

Katniss's Arena, the Seventy First, is the one I most vividly remember. It was a hill with conifer forest on the top end and a rock beach at the bottom. Colton and her had chosen what they knew and hid in the conifer forest. The Career pack had the beach, until they killed the kids from Four in a dispute with each other and no longer had a clue of how to survive on a beach. They went up the hill to the conifer forest afterwards, forcing Katniss and Colton to move along. There was this few days of hide-and-seek and trying to outlive each other, before the Careers found our tributes. They stabbed Colton and cornered Katniss. She was forced to kill them all to free herself.

"You sketched _my_ Arena?" asks a familiar voice I've longed for.

"Oh!" I shout, surprised. "Katniss!"

I think I've momentarily forgotten that she can be really silent when she wants it. Even when climbing into my open windows with the help of that trash bin underneath.

She looks at me with this curiosity in her eyes, but relents as I drop my book and pull her into a tight embrace.

"I've missed you," she whispers, as she rests her cheek on my chest. Now that she's a Victor, she's not as short and skinny as she used to be, but to me, she still looks small and fragile. It never shows on the screen. She's never made any effort to hide her disdain whenever she was there. But with her defenses down, she's this tiny little thing. She's just a girl.

A girl with lots of fire, a mind to change things, and horrors to last a lifetime.

"I've missed you too," I tell her. She's getting restless, so I loosen my arms around her. From the corner of my eyes, I can see my book on the floor. I give it a nudge with my foot to push it under the bed. I'll retrieve it later when she's gone.

"Do you mind if we... if we don't go up to bed today?" she asks. Lord, she breaks my heart. Shoulders slumped, eyes downcast; she's embarrassed and guilty that she can't give me _that_ tonight.

"That's not all I want from you, Katniss," I tell her. She tilts her head and looks at me, her many emotions written all over her face. "Love is not just about that. I'm happy just having you here with me."

She sniffles, then inhales and throws her head back. Her soul wants to cry, but her mind is adamant not to.

"I really need to talk to someone now," she says. "Someone who's not yet jaded. Who won't tell me to just suck it up because it's The Capitol and their messed up rules."

"I can be that person," I reassure her, though I suspect it's not needed. She knows that.

"Thanks," she mutters. "Alright. I still feel useless that I couldn't help Ted. And Lyss. It's so unfair. It's not even five minutes into. You saw how they'd bludgeoned him? You saw how they'd slashed through her and her friend? Why? Why do people have to be so mean?"

I take a deep breath. What Katniss feels is exactly how I feel sometimes.

"I think they're just scared kids, Katniss," I answer her honestly. "You remember our schoolyard bullies, right? Those kids who call us names and pelt Prim with stones?"

She nods. I don't think she'll ever forget the school bullies. They were such big deals for her.

"They did that because they were afraid. They were afraid that people would like us better. They were afraid that they would have no friend themselves. At the end they still had no friends, but that was how it was."

She nods again and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. The tears have come again.

"When do you think this would stop?" she asks me in despair.

"When we can all get together to stop this," I answer. "No one can do this alone, Katniss. Do you know why they put us in the districts? I think that's because they're scared we'll all band together against them."

"That's what my friends and I believe too," she responds. A smile - a rare one she reserves just for me - breaks on her face. "I wish you can meet them. They'll like you."

For a moment, the temptation to make a remark that I'll be there next year arises. I squash it away the next second, though. If I tell Katniss now, she'll find a way to keep me from going.

"How are they like, actually?" I ask her instead. She's never really talked about them in details. Just 'Finn says this', 'Gale does this', or 'Jo's being a pain again'.

"Finn's a big brother," she says. "Takes care of us all. Keeps us out of troubles. Gale's my Victor Twin. He's very much like me. And Jo... nobody knows what Jo is. You don't predict Jo. You can't."

"They sound like a fun bunch," I comment. And that's honest.

"Not always," she grimaces. "But yes, most of the times. We have to find our own ways to have fun."

I don't question that point. It's crystal clear why they have to find their own ways to keep happy. People always think their lives are all diamonds and luxuries, but I know the truth. In some ways, the dead tributes have it better than they do.

"What you've been doing lately?" I prompt her, after a bit of silence.

She snorts.

"Same old," she huffs out. "Assignments. Sleeping. Mucking around. Photoshoots. Being this stupid extra in their stupid soap opera. Just... just existing in general. You?"

"Same old," I mirror her. "Baking. School. Sleeping. Walking around. Just living in general."

Existing and living. Similar like twins, stark like heaven and hell. My heart hurts for her. I want her to come back to life. I don't want her to just exist, because that's miserable.

I want her to be alive, wherever she is. Not just when she's here with me.

"You wanna do something fun?" I finally ask, deciding that this is the best I can do tonight.

"Not in bed," she mutters.

"No, not that," I quickly reassure her. "Hang a minute."

I grab some pencils and a piece of paper from my desk. It's not the best of paper, just some old wrappers I've salvaged. Nothing like those pristine white things I'm sure she sees everyday at The Capitol. That'll do, though, for tonight.

"I'll show you how to sketch," I tell her, as I tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear.

* * *

Sketching. Talking. Sleeping. _Coupling. _That's how my daily two hours with Katniss are spent.

She's still scared to have me seen with her in public, and I respect her decision even though it'll all be the same at the end. I'll go to the Games next year, whether it's through volunteering or through Snow's order that Katniss's boyfriend gets reaped. When the time comes, I'll be ready. I'll do her and everyone else proud. I'll do what's right.

Tonight's our last night together before she's off to the Capitol again. We know she'll be there for quite a while this time. She hasn't been called there for three months.

We're laying together in my bed now, exhausted and naked after our exercise in passion. Sometimes I can't help but feeling a bit sad how we've got to where we are right now. I wish I had found her whole instead of broken and made her actually happy, instead of finding this girl I've loved forever broken and just merely soothing her wounds. Regardless, my time with her is most probably the happiest time in my life. I don't regret loving her. Even for a single second.

"Finn called from the Capitol last week," she tells me, tracing these patterns on my arm. "Said he's trying to tow a whale on a lifeboat or something weird like that. It sounded like a joke, but now I've begun thinking it means trouble."

It does sound like a code for something bad. I pull Katniss tighter in my arms as she buries herself further onto me.

"Just be careful," I tell her. "And be careful for your friends too, if you can."

She nods and sighs. Her eyes droop, she's growing sleepy. I let her be. It's a good thing she can sleep.

I think I fall asleep too. The next thing I know is waking up from the sunlight on my face; Katniss laying wide awake in my arms.

"Katniss," I nudge her gently. "Time to go."

"I don't want to go," she mutters petulantly.

"Come on," I coax her. "You've got to see your friends."

This stirs something in her. Slowly, she stretches and sits up, rubbing her eyes.

"I'll give Prim a call once I know when I'll go home," she says, as she puts her clothes from yesterday back on. "She'll tell you like usual."

Even when she's still here, I can already see the broken girl emerging. My happy, alive girl is slowly fading back into the depth. How long until she emerges again, who knows. I can only hope this Capitol visit would be short.

I put on my own clothes, as I realize it's time for me to go too. School's off on Sundays, but I've still got somewhere to go.

I've got to train.

"I'll see you as soon as I can," Katniss says. She now stands before my window, the sun illuminating her figure in such a way she looks on fire. No. It only emphasizes she's on fire. My girl's always been on fire.

And I love her.

With a final kiss, I let her go. She mouths her subtle 'I love you' from under the window; I mouth it back to her. I watch quietly as she disappears into the deserted town streets, strong yet sad and a little scared.

Gotta do what I can do to help now.

* * *

I train by myself, for a couple more weeks. In the woods. In my room, drawing out pictures and making little write-ups of what's happened in which Games and why. The more I do it, the more I get concerned of what I'm becoming.

I'm not yet there in the Arena, yet I've already felt myself slipping away.

Each memory I sketch pulls me a little further from the person I am. From time to time, I have to remind myself to stop analyzing how I can use this situation I'm in to deceive and to survive. Most of the times I manage; sometimes, I slip off. Take that morning when I was in the woods, and the thought of dropping that Tracker Jacker nest up a tree onto the Career pack to disband them arose.

"_You're a little off these days, Peeta,_" Prim told me, as I walked her home from school one day. "_Is there anything I can help with?_"

"_Nah,_" I told her then. "_I'm fine. Just a little bit tired, I guess. Some... some more sketching._"

She laughed and winked at me at this, clearly getting the wrong idea of what I'd been sketching. Well. Naughty sketches are still better than Arena murder sketches, I guess.

Winter's slowly descending over our district. This year's Victory Tour is drawing near. I think about that boy from Five every day as I sit up bundled in my room with my Games' sketches. I haven't gotten the chance to meet Katniss again yet, thus I can't ask her whether she's seen that boy in Capitol. From what I remember, he looks quite good. Not as handsome as some past Victors have been, but definitely quite attractive for those attracted to men.

Finally, I've had enough. I'm done analyzing victories. Done trying to bend and twist myself into the Career Tribute I'll never be.

I still want to be myself, now and when I die.

The opportunity of knowing more about victory, second hand, comes today, as this heavy snowfall hits District Twelve. I'm currently snowed in at the Everdeens' place, having been here doing homework with Prim when the thing starts. I've actually readied myself to get home, but Mrs. Everdeen was against it. She's afraid I'll make myself sick.

It's a very valid concern indeed, thus I contently stay. Today, they've also got another guest, another fellow snown-in. Maysilee Donner - Maysilee _Abernathy_, actually -, District Twelve's first female Victor and friend of Prim and Katniss's mother. She's been over here for a chat with her friend; her husband and sons home doing their own things.

"How've you been, Peeta?" she asks me kindly, as we sit together at the lounge watching the snow falling outside. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are preparing some kind of special soup; we've been ushered here and asked to wait as they work.

"Good, Mrs. Abernathy," I answer her. "Yourself?"

"Maysilee," she corrects me. "And yes, I've been good too. The Victor's kind of good, obviously, but, still."

I chuckle, before I realize she might have been hinting something.

"I _know_," she tells me with a smile, as I look at her again. "I can see it in both of you."

Of course. Maysilee has mentored Katniss, and is now mentoring with her. They must've been close in some sense, that it'll be impossible for Maysilee not to notice that Katniss has _someone_ here. And maybe - just maybe - she's noticed that Katniss's always disappeared into the town. She might have stalked Katniss one day. As her mentor, Maysilee knows how she works.

"You sure it's me?" I joke, though it's pointless for it's out of the bag already.

She just smiles. Looks like she's indeed sure.

"I was once like you," she says afterwards, quietly that only us can hear it. "I fell for a Victor. Unlike yours, he had no Capitol trips, but, still he wasn't there most of the times. It's impossible to win the Games and be here all the times."

"And what does it mean?" I ask her, as I tilt my head. I know that her Victor was - _is _- Haymitch; their story had gone through the district like anything. They've been, at one point, Capitol's Sweethearts. The year Maysilee won was the first year a Victor successfully mentored their lover.

"It takes you away," she explains. "At least, it takes most of us away."

I watch as she twitches in her chair and draws in a deep breath. That's something Maysilee does from time to time, I've noticed. It often happened on the reaping stage, especially before they call up the names.

"Victory is hard, Peeta," she then tells me, once the thing she was having is gone. "I'm sure you've noticed it."

"I have," I confirm. This whole conversation feels weird, but so is our current situation, and thus I decide to stay. "How does it feel nowadays?"

Again, the twitch and the deep breath.

"Like it was yesterday," she answers, the smile fading a bit as she looks at me. "It doesn't go away. Sometimes I want to regret it, but I can't. I can't regret being alive."

Of course, she can't. I wasn't even born yet when her and Haymitch's story happened, but people have said Haymitch would've spent his entire life in the bottle had it not for Maysilee.

"You need to be ready," she suddenly whispers.

"Why?" I ask her. Her statement takes me by surprise. She does think that I'll be reaped for the Games.

"Katniss's not one to be caged," Maysilee answers. "It's only a matter of time before she tries to break away."

_It's only a matter of time._

Something tells me that Maysilee is indeed right.

**Up next: Johanna - District 7, Year of the 74th Hunger Games.**

* * *

Okay, so Peeta's first part is done. We'll see him again in a few chapters - where things will really be happening for him :).

Next is our first insight into Johanna's head. Writing her comes so naturally to me (I love her. I won't lie, she's one of my all-time favourite characters), and I'm so excited to introduce her. Will post that in a couple of days. Till then, stay gold!


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Hello everyone! Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting. Special thanks to jc52185 and axes tridents and snares for their reviews. You guys are all awesome :).

This one is Johanna's first P.O.V chapter. Here we'll get a little bit of insight into District 7, her, Gale, and their past. Writing Johanna came smoother to me than writing the others (especially writing Peeta), but do let me know if this is O.O.C or bad. The story is still in its early stage, so there's still a large room for improvement and changes.

**Disclaimer: **All are Suzanne Collins'. I'm just borrowing. The O.C.s that you will find in this story are all mine.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**District Seven, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Johanna**

_Happy New Year._

_And good luck with your work today, everyone. Hope you're alert enough to actually cut the tree and not your own arm. Or to not fall into the chemical pool or one of the machineries in the mills._

I lean out of the bedroom window, into the freezing cold freshness of the winter morning. District Seven's Victor Village was built on top of a hill. This was apparently the premium spot. From this window, I can clearly see the morning commotion down there in the commoners area. People going to work, bundled up in dull winter jackets which have perhaps been passed down the family line for years. Just like that jacket which my brother Ash used to wear to work. The thing had been first our great-grandfather's, then our grandfather's, then our father's. Apparently there was some bloody fight involving axes between our father and his brother - our uncle - over that jacket. Obviously our father won it, for the jacket was his at the end.

Today's New Year day. The first lucky New Year's day Gale and I have had since I was crowned the Victor of the Sixty Ninth Hunger Games, actually. For once, we don't have to work. Not quite sure why The Evil Snow spares us the New Year work this time, but it's pretty good nevertheless. Our Christmas load have been pretty heavy; three live-porn shows in three nights.

Having marvelled my own luck, though, I must admit that The Capitol's still the same old bastard. Look at those lumberjacks and papermakers down there, shuffling through the white blanket on the ground. They're not on holiday today. The Capitol won't give them any.

_Well done, Capitol. You suck._

"Jo," a sleepy, grumpy mumble greets me. "Close the window. It's cold."

I look over my shoulder, at that cocooned lump on the bed. This room doesn't have an electric heater, thanks to someone's emotional display of wrath those years ago. The fireplace's burning, though, wood crackling and sparks jumping. It can't be that cold.

"Fire's on," I tell him. "You're just lame, Soldier."

"Johanna."

"Yes, Gale?"

"For hell's sake, close that window."

"Fine," I snap at him. "I'm closing it!"

_SLAM. _Done.

On that faint reflection on the window glass, I can see him sitting up on the bed. The covers slide off his shoulders, revealing his sleeping attire. On winter days like this, Gale sleeps in his thermals. Don't know if it's survival or weakness, but I must say the thing looks unflattering on him. He looks better in _nothing_. And that's not just because I'm one dirty, insatiable girl, by the way.

"Did you actually have to be that loud?" he asks me, raspy but harsh.

"No," sing out to him. "Just _wanted_ to."

"You're infuriating," he comments. I give him this salute, which he doesn't see for he's rolled away from me. "Grow up."

"Just because you're a stiff, doesn't mean everyone else are kids," I scold him back.

Silence. He's ignored me again. Looks like today's gonna be one of his bad days. One of those days in which he'll just sulk, disappear somewhere, and tinker with every contraption he can find in the house when he gets back until someone takes him out for a drink.

_Happy New Year, Johanna._

It's a better idea to bow out when Gale's all emo, thus that's what I do. Underwear on, bra on, jeans on, shirt on, jacket on - and let's go. I make a point of slamming the bedroom door when I get out. The Soldier's sure to flip, but he's already going to ignore me anyway it doesn't bother me.

Both his real brother and my foster one are still sitting there in the kitchen when I walk in to get my morning coffee. Rory, in a red checkered shirt contrasting his olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes. Sven, in a dull blue technician's jumpsuit which clashes horribly with his fair skin, jet-black hair, and dark eyes. Why on earth they're still here and not with their coworkers on the streets, I have no idea. The only thing I'm certain about is that this most probably is Rory's idea. Sven's the little law-abiding, fully-terrorized citizen of Panem in the Hawthorne-Mason-Lee household.

"Morning, brothers," I greet them. "Looking for some good sacking, I see?"

"They won't sack us," Rory brushes me off, lazily cutting off his piece of _chicken_. "They're scared of you. And Gale, of course, but mainly you."

"He's just trolling, Jo," Sven quickly adds. He stands up and pours me some coffee before I even ask. Of all of us here, I must say he's the one nice enough to serve others. "We're taking the bike today."

I roll my eyes. The bike is the latest result of Gale and Sven's work tinkering with garbages they found laying around the district. Constructed from some old bicycle parts and a motor salvaged off a totaled Peacekeepers' buggy cart, I have no idea how well or how long this thing would last. I bet it would look like a scene from a black comedy if the thing disintegrates when they are on it.

"Don't kill yourselves," I tell them my goodbye, as I make my way out to the back porch with my coffee. "Have a good day slaving for Good Ol' Snow!"

A snort and a chuckle each. So, that was _funny_ after all.

The back porch - Gale's back porch - opens to this little backyard. It's where the boys pile up all their junks, really. Gale's hobby of playing inventor has rubbed off on Sven, and Rory's happily participating in this by picking up random crap from all over the district. Right now, we have parts of old carts, something which looks like part of a school desk, and some junk which might have been part of the machinery in the paper mill. Some of them have been there for months it's covered in white now. It looks... distasteful. Just distasteful.

What was I thinking about when I moved in with all them boys?

Well, I didn't really have a choice. Since my victory, I've been District Seven Victors' Village's only female inhabitant.

Wait. What is this thing on my face? Damn. I've been crying again. It's truly impossible not to think about that without thinking about _them_. And it's near impossible to think about them without crying. Four and a half years on, Snow still holds a control over my emotions.

_One day, Snow, I'll kill you, just like you killed my mother. Just like you killed my sister. Just like you killed my little brother. Like you killed Hazelle. And Vick and Posy._

I throw my head back and laugh through my tears, as the picture of the bastard himself, brown bread dead, forms in my head. One day, he'll be like that. And I'll laugh. I'll laugh, laugh, and laugh.

"You sound really amused, Jo."

That sends me to a jolt. I didn't know when Gale came.

"I was," I tell him sharply. He raises a brow at this, as if questioning why on earth his innocent statement grated me. Well... to tell the truth, it's more of the timing than the thing. So, yes, I'll have to let it go.

"And what's this thing which amused you?" he inquires.

"The usual Snow revenge stuff," I explain, lifting up my cup to my lips for a sip. "The things that you know."

His expression falls flat at this. No surprise, really. Gale's one of the handful of people who really knows me, and he's the one who's seen me in anything and everything. He's the one who knows me best.

"Have you been to the graves yet?" he then asks, looking straight at our rubbish-ladden backyard.

"Yeah, the first day."

For someone who wishes to stop constantly remembering the dead, I surely have a strange habit. Every time I'm home, I'll actually visit them without fail. No flowers, of course - I can't look at them the same now. But I've always stopped where my father, mother, and little siblings rest now. And where Gale's family - all of them but Rory - rest, too. Our fathers passed years before we defied the odds and Snow killed the rest, but we've decided to put them together. They shouldn't be apart.

There's a ninth grave, set a bit apart from the others, that I've always visited too. That was where they buried my sister in law Elaine - wife to my older brother Ash - who died in Gale's arms in the Sixty Seventh Games. And a tenth grave - that _empty _one - next to hers, just as part of the whole cover-up.

Haymitch and Maysilee Abernathy might think that they're the only Victors with some secret missing family member, but we're actually the first. My older brother Ash went missing right after his wife Elaine died. He didn't even waited six months, the way the Abernathys' daughter did. He disappeared right after Elaine's cannon sounded.

I was actually the one who'd come up with the idea of faking his death, as my mother and sister fretted and my little brother looked at us all.

"I might go visit today," Gale says, bringing me back to the present with him. "It's been a while."

"Close to a year," I remind him. It's not a surprising behaviour, really, coming from him. He's always run away from things he doesn't like. Still, I have to try reminding him, though. He would've been The Perfect Man if only he hasn't gotten that penchant for running away when troubled.

"I'm going today," he repeats, louder than before.

He ends up going, after breakfast and a little quick pleasure over the kitchen counter. Figure out I should at least give him some fun before I send him off to face his demons. It's lame, using sex as a tool, but that's one of the few things which works.

Hell. That Bastard Snow has surely done a number on my brain.

I wash traces of him and myself off, before putting on some new clothes and start pottering around what is essentially a boys' house. Socks. Underwear. Shirt. Jeans. All scattered on the floors, throughout all the rooms in this house. Hazelle would surely turn around in her grave if she could still see this.

_Hazelle. Laying bloody and lifeless down the hill next to our markets. Killed because her son's girlfriend defied the odds and won the Sixty Ninth Hunger Games._

Deep breath, Johanna. Focus. It's already hurt you bad; it can't hurt you anymore for she's dead. They're all dead. It's you and Gale and Rory and Sven now. Surviving. And Katniss and Finnick, wherever they are. Those are all who matter.

I open my eyes as I exhale all those thoughts away, getting back to be the general piece of work I've been the past four and a half years.

Cleaning up after the boys - well, to be fair, after Rory and Sven - takes up the whole morning. By the time I finish, it's noon already and Gale's already sitting on the kitchen table dismantling some old toaster which stopped working. A quick, distracted kiss on my cheek when I come close, but nothing more. He's indeed deep in his work.

Him tinkering. Me fuming.

We haven't always been like this.

* * *

Up until six and a half years ago, we were these ignorant, runny-nosed, law-breaking District Seven Rascals. My family's always been close to the Hawthornes. I used to play with Rory, the second eldest in their family. We're the same age and were in the same year at school. Gale was that year-older brother who was always stuck babysitting us, too young to play with my older brother Ash and too old to play with the younger kids.

Our fathers died just months after each other. Logging accidents. The Capitol worked them lumberjacks hard that year, fifteen-hour shifts, that even the strongest of them faltered. The oldest children of the families stepped up to their roles afterwards. Ash quit school and went to the forest with the lumberjacks. Gale took shifts in the paper mill after school, and poached outside the district fencing in the mornings. We were all still friends, but we drifted apart. The older boys worked. Me and Rory, the second oldests, helped our mothers with the kids and did the odd lumberjacking in our spare time. Life wasn't perfect, but it worked. Despite all the things we were doing, we never got caught and whipped at the square. The Peacekeepers just didn't care.

I was fourteen, strong, and hardened when Rory's name came out of the boys' Reaping Ball. It wasn't something totally surprising, all those tesserae and all. The unexpected thing happened shortly afterwards, as Gale dashed off the fifteen year old crowd and shouted,

"_I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!_"

I remember being really heartbroken that day, for some reason I didn't fully understand. Looking back now, I realized I've always cared about Gale more than I should, since we were little. To put it clear for the brainless and clueless out there, I've always liked him. Not loved, for it was a such a strong word, but liked. Those giggly girls of the Capitol call that thing a crush, I believe.

The worst, though, was yet to come.

My brother Ash had married his girlfriend, Elaine Lee, the year of the Sixty Sixth Games. Elaine lost her father in yet another logging accident that year; orphaned since her mother had too passed. Though they were just seventeen, the marriage was the only way to keep her and her brother Sven out of the community home. They lived with my family from then on. Elaine brought what she could from her job at the paper mill, and helped my mother with the housework. She became a true daughter and sister in our family; someone we would scream and cry for had her name come out of the Reaping Ball.

... and screamed we all did, for Seven's female tribute for the Sixty Seventh Games was Elaine Lee Mason.

That day, my family and Gale's started saving our scraps for some fancy headstones. We knew one of them, at least, was going to die. Only one could live, and their odds looked horrible. 'Odds' turned out to be a bit of a lie, though, for they both made it to the final eight. 'Only one could live', however, was the truth. Elaine got poisoned during the final five and was gone within minutes. Until today, I believe it was one of the reasons Gale won at the end. It fired him up, blinding him with enough rage to go through the three remaining Careers.

Gale came home with a crown and a whole new personality. Gone was the bright, curious boy, with just the right amount of angst to keep things going for the family. Gale Hawthorne the Victor was brooding and quiet, with little interest of the world and a lot of regrets.

I, too, was changed. I became the oldest in my family, upon my brother's heartbroken disappearance. I quit school to become a full-time lumberjack, just like Ash. That year, I really got stronger.

... until I started talking to Gale one day, and realized my old crush was still there underneath that dark facade.

We kissed the day he came back from his Victory Tour. I let him explore me afterwards; sometimes I even couldn't hold my desire and came to his room myself. The real thing didn't happen until the day before the next reaping, though.

I remember sitting with him at the back porch of this house that day, trying to joke around though it came out lame.

"_Have you ever been to the dam?_" he asked me, after my hundredth or so lame joke.

"_No,_" I answered him.

He then took me to the house of this young Peacekeeper who drove the cut woods from the forests to the station in this old truck. Some exchanges happened - I didn't know what exactly Gale gave the guy - and suddenly we were in that truck, Gale driving and me sitting next to him. At the end of our district was this spot overlooking the said dam. We couldn't go there for it was out of the fences and we had the truck, but the view was nice.

"_Now, we've both got to see this before we die,_" he said, laughing darkly, as he parked us there at that spot.

I laughed back and kissed him. And something happened.

That day, I lost my virginity to Gale Hawthorne, on the seat of an illegally borrowed truck parked next to the district fencing. It wasn't the nicest of my experiences, though was by all means way above my worst ones. But it was sweet nevertheless. The Peacekeeper said nothing when we returned the truck a couple of hours later. I was sure he noticed the bloodstain on the seats, though - and Gale's super-sheepish expression.

I didn't get picked that year. He went to the Capitol with the two tributes whom we didn't know, and resumed his role as my lover whenever he was back at Seven afterwards. We got much better at it. Or, I did. He's already had these experiences from his _job _at Capitol.

One day, though, he came home from the Capitol, wild-eyed and panicked.

"_Jo,_" he said, his voice rushed and harried. "_I messed up. I'll get everyone killed._"

Nothing happened, though, until the next Reaping Day came and my name came out of that bowl.

* * *

_RING._

_RING._

_RING._

Ah, yes. That's the damned phone.

Gale's not showing any sign of getting up and leaving his now unrecognizable toaster, so duty's mine. I get up and head to the funny-looking thing, putting it on loudspeaker so Gale could hear.

"Mason speaking," I say. Anyone who calls would know it's me; I'm the only one left in my family, as far as the world's concerned.

"_Joey_," the voice across says. I recognize it instantly. It's Finnick.

"Finny," I slur out, just to get back at him for his ridiculous nickname. "Joey", "Kitty". The only person he's not nicknaming is Gale.

"_How've you kids been_?"

"Pretty great," I answer him. "Been humping a lot."

Finnick laughs. And Gale's poking his head out of the kitchen, looking slightly red and angry. My mission's accomplished, seemingly.

"_When's your next Capitol trip?_" he asks.

"Just in time for the Grand Victory Tour party," I say. The thing's coming in less than a month, and I don't think I have something scheduled in between. There were some Show Duties lined up for me and Gale afterwards, but that was all. "You?"

"_Same,_" he sighs out. "_Which is a problem._"

Ah, yes. Finnick's problem. He's confided in us, in these scared whispers, that he's knocked Annie Cresta up. Which would've been a happy occasion, I believe, with a wedding to arrange and a baby to coo at afterwards - if only they hadn't been both Victors, she hadn't been a little crazy, and Finnick hadn't been one of Snow's Elite Prostitutes.

"Does it overlap with the day?" I enquire.

"_Nearly_," he answers, a glum tone in his voice. "_If it comes early, then I'll miss it._"

Poor Finnick.

"Tough luck," I finally tell him. "Hope they can do something to hold it in place - sew it all up or something."

An awkward laughter. Looks like my joke didn't quite nail it.

"_If only,_" he mutters afterwards. "_Anyway. Happy New Year to you whores._"

"Happy New Year to you too, Manwhore."

_CLICK._

That's the end.

"What are you going to do about it?" Gale asks me, from his spot on the kitchen door.

"Meh," I shrug. "No fucking idea yet."

He strides over to me. I lean lazily against the wall behind me, as he towers above me. Not in a menacing or threatening way. Just a little worried for our friend.

"I heard something from Abernathy when we last mentored," he tells me quietly, after a quick look around to make sure no one's around. "What the details are, we don't know yet. But we're gonna break this circle of devil off."

'Break this circle of devil off' is a codename for a rebellion plan. One of the older Victors coined it years ago before I join their rank, I'm not sure who it was. We don't normally talk about it when we're at Capitol, or even at home. It's a top-secret information.

"Sounds good," I say to Gale. "We really need that. When?"

He falls silent at this.

"Not for a couple of years," he says. "It's too dangerous."

Oh, well. Looks like we'll all indeed have to wait.

I cross my arms and give Gale this dirty look, just because.

**Up next: Johanna - Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games.**

* * *

Thanks for reading and making it here everyone. Hope you like that. Next chapter is still Johanna, but she'll be in Capitol this time. Something important will happen at the end, and it won't be Johanna making trouble this time. Who it'll be, you'll find out in a couple of days.

Have a good week there!


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **Hello! Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting. Special thanks to jc52185 and axes tridents and snares for their reviews. You guys are all awesome :).

We're going to see Katniss from Johanna's perspective here, and move off the characters' introduction arc to the conflict arc at the end of the chapter. Here I'll also reveal this one song which matches this story nearly perfectly - even if it was out after I started writing this! How it will end up in Panem, we'll visit it somewhere in this chapter. The song is "Young and Beautiful" by Lana Del Rey, it's part of "The Great Gatsby" movie soundtrack.

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games trilogy and its characters belong to Suzanne Collins. And the lyrics I quote is from the song "Young and Beautiful", written by Lana Del Rey and Rick Nowels and performed by Lana Del Rey. I'm just borrowing.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Johanna**

A couple of weeks, a local District Seven Victory Tour dinner, and a train ride later, Gale and I are back at Capitol. It's all Show Duties, sleep, the odd client, and some sitting around in the apartment for us these days. Waiting for the ultimate party, which is tonight.

Katniss, being from the first district visited in the Tour, was here when Gale and I arrived from Seven. Finnick, being from the fourth from last district visited, arrived three days after Gale and I did. Our little, messed up Victor's family is complete now.

Of all four of us in the house, Katniss - _Brainless_ - is definitely the most miserable. She spends most of her waking time gazing out of that massive window in the living room. As if there's something fascinating out there. Or, rather, there are some fascinating thoughts in her head. I know of that boy she hides back home at Twelve. Her ultimate Achilles's Heel, even more so than that twin sister she volunteered for.

He is, to her, what I'd been to Gale before he did something which angered Snow and The Bastard brought me into public eyes through the reaping. What Annie had been to Finnick, before Snow just happened to know about her and got them to pull her name out. What Maysilee had been to Haymitch, before Snow decided he wasn't done with the District Twelve boy yet and got her thrown to the Games.

If I can draw conclusions, then I can definitely see something bad brewing in the horizon. And yes, I can draw conclusions.

Sooner or later, it's bound to happen. It's too late to do anything now. She can't just rewind time. The best thing she could've done to prevent it was to not fall for him at the first place. I've heard of former boyfriends and former girlfriends being thrown in the Games for some minuscule mistake no one but Snow would care about. His goal, obviously, was not to break hearts. His goal was to guilt-trip.

Snow's adamant to make every single Victor believe that all they touch would turn into dust. He won't stop until you become this cowering, broken mess on his feet. He wants you to be ready to do anything he asks of you. Or to be willing and happy to just die.

Because, once you realize how strong you are, you would surely put up a fight against him and his fucking sick regime.

I force myself out of my train of thoughts as the front door creaks open. Katniss is home from an assignment, at exactly six thirty in the morning. The first thing I do, by instinct, is to check on her face. It's the usual scowly thing, but nevertheless untouched. Her client didn't hit her the way some of mine did.

I pursed my lips to muffle that sigh of relief, and join her on our dining table.

"How was the date?" I ask her.

"Same old," she answers. "How was the show?"

"Same old," I answer back. "Got a fun scenario yesterday. Bondage."

She makes a face at this. Oh, well. That's Katniss. Two and a half years of being here in the circuit hasn't changed her at all.

"How does it feel?" she asks, once her initial shock subsided.

"How does what feel?" I ask her back. She most probably is asking about the show, but I really love grilling her that I ask anyway.

She looks at me, then turns away.

"Being in the show."

"Oh, that," I say. "It feels pretty much normal now. So normal that I've always thought I'm being watched, whenever Gale and I have..."

"Got it," Katniss cuts. "Got it."

"You're no fun," I tell her frankly. "It's called _sex_, Brainless. S-E-X. Repeat after me. Sex."

She grows bright red at this. Oh, well.

"You're nuts," she tells me, as she takes the cup of coffee I'm pushing towards her now.

"I'm Johanna," I correct her. "Now, that Victor from Three, she's Nuts."

Katniss scowls. Uh oh. I forgot that Nuts - _Wiress_, actually - is her friend.

"Don't be mean to Wiress, Jo," she scolds me. "She's a lovely person."

"Lovely and _nuts_," I comment, just because. And that's the truth. Wiress is a lovely person, yet she's _nuts_. She hasn't been totally sound since her Games.

... but again, which Victor has been sound since their Games? We've all got issues. Really. Even those of us who prance and strut and pretend it's all rosy good.

"You're so mean," Katniss grumbles - at _me_. So much for trying to look after her.

I decide to just play nice for once, though, and serve her breakfast. The girl's been having it pretty rough this year. The Capitol Bastards are shifting towards her nowadays. Perhaps because she's the youngest of us female Victors. And, I have to begrudgingly admit, because she's perhaps the most interesting. Her volunteering, her costumes, and all.

"What are you wearing tonight?" she asks me.

"Whatever the stylist brings me," I say. "Which means, some kind of horrible dress."

She grins at this. Even Katniss Everdeen, scowler extraordinaire and fashion un-enthusiast, finds my stylist terrible.

"Cinna's making me several designs we're passing as mine," she informs me afterwards. Despite being not at all interested in fashion, this girl had used it as the 'talent' she showcased during her Victory Tour. "They're made in my size, but I think they'll fit you too. Would you like to try one?"

"Nah, thanks," I answer her. "That's insurgency. Not wearing what your Capitol-appointed stylist gave you."

This makes her roll her eyes. She doesn't bring the topic up further though, much to my chagrin. If only she's been pushy enough about this, we can actually bend my stylist into submission together.

"What are you gonna do today?" she then asks again.

"Sit around?" I offer her. "Odair's fully booked, but Gale's around. I might get him to teach me stuff. The guy's a nerd."

Some kind of relief crosses her face. She just doesn't wanna be alone, I guess.

"You wanna join us?" I offer her.

"Not in bed," she shoots back.

"Hell no," I tell her. "I don't share. Unless I have to?"

There's a mixture of amusement and sympathy on her face now. Katniss, she can really be an interesting person when she wants it.

"I'm not Snow," she answers me, a few seconds later. "I won't make you share."

Well, she knows Snow does make Gale and I _share_. Sometimes the scenario for our show calls for 'menage a trois', and that's just another term for threesome.

"Well, thank you I suppose?" I say.

Katniss says nothing, which is typical of her. She's not much a talker, unless she really has something to say.

"Heard Snow's sealed a huge deal for our latest Victor," I tell her, as we both dig in into our breakfasts of some biscuits in milk and some fruit. "Poor boy's gonna go with one of Snow's male buddies the night of his party."

Spoon dropping. I don't know why this still surprises her, really.

"Katniss," I sigh out. "Guy's used both Finnick and Gale. And perhaps most other boy Victors under the sun. This shouldn't surprise you."

"Don't tell when to get surprised," she snaps. "It's still sick, Jo! What are you doing here? Letting it happen?"

"Drop that crusade, Brainless!" I snap back. "Helping him out of it won't make things better! Snow'll kill both your family and his! You want that?"

I pause for a breather, before adding, "I got reaped because Gale refused to go with this guy for a fourth date or so."

Sharp breath. Looks like I've finally put her back at her place - as defined by Snow.

"Finnick's gonna prep-talk him during the party," I reassure her, as her crestfallen expression gets to me. "Poor boy's not gonna be totally alone."

Prep-talking new Victors about their duties has always been Finnick's unpaid job since the year after his victory. He's always made sure the new guy or girl is alright. Sometimes they'd be bullheaded - especially if they're from One or Two - and ignore him, but some others would listen. That's how he collected Gale and Katniss. Two other lost children in this adults' world of political play and dirty duties. Now that I've thought about it, it was actually Finnick and not Gale who gave me a prep-talk of my duties. Which was a good thing, for Finnick's much better at making sticky situations sound funny.

"Finn," Katniss suddenly whispers. "How's he? Has Annie had the baby?"

"No baby yet," I tell her. "Finnick's as nervous as hell, about having a kid and about missing the delivery altogether."

"How long is he staying here?"

"Only a week this time. Snow wants him away so that more clients can_ train_ the new Victor."

A gagging motion. Katniss's re-enacting my own reaction when I first heard about this kind of thing.

I remember sitting right here on this dining table, talking to Finnick about The Capitol and politics and all kind of evil things Snow was doing. It was the Victory Tour for the Seventy First - Katniss's Victory Tour. We weren't friends back then. Finnick only brought her in a month or two later, when he found her curled up in a hotel's janitor cupboard after an assignment.

"_Glad I'm only staying for a week this time,_" I told Finnick, as we both ate some meal I now can't remember. "_Snow's current close buddies are just disgusting._"

"_That's because Everdeen's being trained, Joey,_" Finnick replied. "_Snow only gets you out of the scene to make her the only available choice._"

I think I actually threw up in my bathroom ten minutes later, when those words fully sank in.

"I hope the baby waits for him," Katniss says, bringing me back to the present. "It'll be really sad for him to miss the birth."

"Yeah," I agree with her, for once. "I've asked Finnick to get them to sew Annie up altogether, but he thought it's a bad idea."

She rolls her eyes.

"You're terrible, Johanna," she scolds me.

"I try really hard for it, thank you very much," I bow at her.

I end up shaking Gale awake and pester him to entertain Katniss and I after breakfast. He agrees, grumpily, to teach us one thing he deems safe - the guitar. At Seven, we used to make our own makeshift ones, with some spare planks and random strings we find around. Now that we're rich, he can actually buy a real one - a real expensive one, I must say. He's also bought Rory and Sven one each, so that they can play together whenever he's home. He left me to buy my own, though. Perhaps because I'm a real terrible player.

"What's that song?" Katniss asks, as he strums out that one song I've always heard him playing.

"It's an old song from the 21st century," he answers her. "It's called 'Young and Beautiful'."

"Holy moly, Hawthorne," I barge in, shaking my head. "21st century? Thought we have no more relics from that time, now that The Great Government of Panem has decided to destroy all."

"A family thing," he explains, glancing up a bit at me. "Someone in my grandmother's family line salvaged some musical sheets for this song, years and years and years ago."

"Does it have words?" Katniss asked, tilting her head with a huge interest.

"Yep," Gale says. "It's written for that period - some parts of it makes no sense now. Still a nice one, though."

Then he starts singing the thing out. And both of us girls fall silent. Not because of his voice, for it lies somewhere between mediocre and awful. It's the words of the song itself.

'_Will you still love me, when I'm no longer young and beautiful?_

_Will you still love me when I've got nothing but my aching soul?_'

Maybe I'm just desperate and delusional, but those words spell out 'The Whore Squad Rebellion' to me.

The song finishes. Katniss, surprisingly, is the first one to speak afterwards.

"The words are just... beautiful," she whispers, sounding completely mesmerized. "Could you write it down for me?"

"Sure."

I gnaw on my lips a bit. Somehow, I have a feeling that Katniss has a bad plan brewing in that non-existent brain of hers.

"You're not normally interested in things, Brainless," I decide to say, just to coax a little bit of information out of her. "What a rarity."

"I_ do _get interested in things," she answers somewhat mysteriously. There's no mystery in her eyes, though. I recognize that flicker of fire. I've seen that way too many times, in Gale's eyes and hers.

These two shouldn't really be left alone with fire. They'll just burn themselves.

"Whatever you do," I end up telling her - and _him_ -, as I get up to pour myself a little _something_. "Don't get anyone killed."

I've got no reply from that, nor any further reassurance that things won't happen. Fuck. This can really get ugly.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon pass quickly, as I booze a little and sleep a little bit. Then it's time to go to the Training Center, where we'll spend tonight and the next few nights until it's time for us to go home to our districts. Apparently, the Victory Tour is intended to be some sort of Victors' reunion, a way for Snow to remind us how fucked up each and every of us is. Not every Victor will be here. I think he's only inviting the last twenty or so of us. After twenty years, there would be nothing left of you that's worth displaying to others as a warning sign, I guess.

"I hope you remember what I said," I tell Katniss, as we climbed into that car waiting for us in front of our apartment. "I wasn't trolling."

"I know you weren't," she answers, short and sharp.

I don't see her, or Finnick, or even Gale again for the next few hours. My prep team pounces on me as soon as I get out of the lift at Floor Seven, eager to tug and poke and paint on my body. By the time they finish, there's only half an hour left until the party starts. I titter along with Gale towards the President's Mansion, as he half-drags and half-carries me there.

"You stick with me, alright?" he commands me when we walk into the party. "We're each other's dates tonight."

Us having each other as party dates is actually pretty rare. Although them Capitolites are well aware that Gale and I are together, they sometimes still book us separately as party dates _just because they can_.

"Fine," I fake an annoyance, _just because I can_.

The party goes like the previous ones. Endless food, endless drinks, that vomit-inducing liquid them Capitolites use to keep skinny floating around. Naughty stuff passed around in bathrooms and under the tables. People engaging in gross behaviours in the gardens and in every nook and cranny you can find. Gossips flying. Stories shared. Just general shallowness, over the suffering of people in the districts.

"I'm bored," Gale tells me quietly, as we slip into a corner near the packed outdoor dance floor a few hours after the thing starts.

"You'd be stupid if you're not," I agree. This party is pretty much another Capitol party. Repetitive and mundane. "Our newest colleague is still here, though. We can't leave yet, sadly."

_Or luckily_, I add silently afterwards.

"Have you seen him tonight?" Gale asks.

"Once," I tell him. "A few minutes after the party started, talking to his date."

"Hope Finnick finds him," comments Gale, as he gazes up the winter sky.

"Yeah," I answer him, kicking him on the shin for his carelessness. "They'll really get along, won't they?"

He forces a laughter as he gives me this annoyed-yet-grateful glance.

"Yeah."

The air grows a bit colder than it already is. Damn the stress and the pressure to always be correct, just so that Snow doesn't go ballistic and kill your family. I hope that one day I'll get to put that bastard in our hot-iron sandals.

"Guys!"

That's Finnick. I turn around, and see him standing _dateless_ next to Gale and I. He looks flustered. As if he'd just run through this whole mansion.

"Have you seen Katniss?"

"No," Gale answers.

"I haven't either," I add.

Finnick grimaces. Whatever is happening can't be good.

"Her date's looking for her," he tells us. "She's been disappearing for perhaps an hour now. I hope she's still around."

"Fuck," I groan. "Let's go find her."

We disperse. I let the boys trawl through the gardens and the party crowd, as I head towards where the bathrooms are. Katniss hasn't changed much since that day Finnick found her in the hotel's janitor cupboard. She still likes small spaces, more so when she's stressed out - take her own wardrobe in our apartment, for example. If she's really running away from her date, then the female bathroom is a logical choice. Katniss's date tonight is a guy. He won't be able to get in there.

As I push that glass door, though, it becomes apparent that my prediction's _wrong_. Katniss is not in the bathroom. It's empty as now, with the exception of that Morphling addict injecting herself in front of the mirror.

I close the door back, as I mutter my soft "have fun" for the lady.

A visit to that one other bathroom turns out equally fruitless. And so my bit of a stint peeking into all the cupboards and little rooms which are unlocked. Katniss is nowhere to be found.

I come back to the party empty-handed.

"You found her?" Gale asks me, harried and concerned.

"Nope," I answer him. "Bet you didn't, too."

We both mutter something bad at this, before turning on our heels and head off to find Finnick. My blood starts boiling in anger and annoyance towards Katniss. Who on earth does she think she is, disappearing like this? Haven't she realized yet the imminent danger she's in? Haven't she seen that Snow...

_Snow_. That was why. Maybe Katniss is rebelling.

I stop on my spot as the thought hits me.

"You right?" Gale asks, as he stops alongside me.

"Yeah," I tell him. "Just..."

An announcement from the live band cuts my sentence.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen! Please welcome a special performance from our Seventy First Victor, Miss Katniss Everdeen!"_

Turning towards where the stage is, I can see Brainless now. Her makeup looks smudged, and her hair dishevelled, but somehow she's more dignified than ever. Back straight. Chin up. Cold and confident.

"I'd like to dedicate this song for my fellow Victors and all of you in Capitol," she says, her gaze sweeping the silent, stunned audience. "It's called 'Young and Beautiful'."

_Great. Just... fucking great._

I grip onto Gale's arm _real_ hard as our Little Victor Sister sings that song he's just taught her earlier. Right now, I don't know whether to sing along with her or to cry because she's just ruined her life.

We've definitely just reaped our District Twelve male tribute for the 74th Games.

**Up next: Katniss - The Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone! Finally, I'm done with the character introductions and studies.

From here on, the events will pick up. I'll post the next chapter in a couple of days. Have a good weekend there!


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting! And special thanks to jc52185, THGbabe, and axes tridents and snares for the reviews. You guys are all awesome!

Here, we'll see the repercussions of Katniss's singing stunt. It's not pretty, though the ugliest is yet to come. In case some of you (like my fellow Johale fan axes tridents and snares :)) were wondering why I chose "Young and Beautiful" as the trouble-stirring song here, it was mainly intended as a subtle, cynical remark towards the Capitol and its habits of exploiting the Victors when they were, well, young and beautiful. Katniss didn't at all intend to ignite a full rebellion, she was just sick of and upset about the way she and her friends were treated. As for Gale, he wasn't actually thinking much into it. It was just something he's known as a kid, and played just for the familiarity and the comfort.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins, including "The Hanging Tree". I'm just borrowing.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

By the time I finish that song, I don't know what I am anymore. I might be a ball of fire, all this heat and anger. I might be a floating cloud, for my head feels light. I might be dead, for there's this hollow pit in my chest that stays.

But I've sung that song. And that's it.

"Very beautiful indeed, Katniss!" the band's lead singer exclaims. I barely register his thick-accented, exaggeration-laden voice, though. I'm light. I'm flying. I'm not here on earth. "Thank you."

"Thank you," I respond, as I make my way down the stage. I'm just going to get back to Floor Twelve of the Training Center. There's no way I'm gonna go back to the disgusting guy who tried to get me laying with him in the middle of Snow's rose gardens. This is too much. I can't deal with it anymore.

"Catnip!"

That's Gale. Turning around, I can see him standing in the middle of some awestruck-looking crowd. There's something in his face I can't quite decipher. Panic, and something else.

I motion him to follow me and just keep walking, for I can't deal with the crowd.

"Where are you going?" he asks as he catches up.

"My room," I tell him. "I need a drink. And some sleep."

"Good," he tells me. "I'll take you there. You, uh, you seem unwell. Jo and Finn will tell your cli... your date."

We walk back to the Training Center in this uneasy silence. Somehow, I can't tell Gale anything, even when I really want it. My tongue's just tied.

..._What have I done_?

The realization hits me, hard and sudden, as we walk through the front door of the Training Center.

"Gale," I grab his arm. "Gale. I need to go back to the party. Take me there."

"No," he refuses. "We're going to your floor. You need to rest."

"But..."

I let that trail off, as Gale's eyes dart outside the glass door we've just walked through. There was a squad of Peacekeepers there, looking at us and ready to take action.

"Follow me."

He grabs my arm and sneaks his other hand around my back at this. I relent, with a sinking, heavy heart, as he takes me into the elevator and up to Floor Twelve.

_Prim. Mother. Peeta. What have I done?_

* * *

The fear for the fate of my loved ones is so strong, too strong that sleep doesn't come to me at all that night.

I see them whenever I close my eyes. Prim, her eyes open and lifeless, bloodied and broken on the floor of our house. Mother, still in her chair, blood running down her clothes. And Peeta. Peeta and his family. Burning alive in their bakery.

It's all so vivid that at one point it becomes impossible to distinguish my fear-induced fantasy and my reality. I end up ringing Floor Seven and Floor Four just to talk to my Victor Brothers and Victor Sister, for I think it might help. That turns out to be the worst thing I could do, though, for none of them answers.

I really begin to think that I've got the three of them killed too.

Towards the morning, my exhausted eyes drop, sending me into this short, fitful sleep full of bizarre dreams of blood and roses. I know they're dream, though, strangely. It's as if my subconscious is telling me that I'm not a hundred percent sane at the moment, that I shouldn't believe every single thing I see and feel.

_RING._

_RING._

_RING._

That's the phone, so I am definitely dreaming. I flip over and let my hand find it, bringing it to the left ear they had to reconstruct after I burst it in my Games.

"Hello?" I croak out.

"_Miss Everdeen. The President's expecting you in his mansion at ten AM this morning._"

_Damn._

The sentence sends me jolting on my bed, clutching onto the phone for dear life. I hate feeling useless like this, but there's nothing else I can do. Snow wants me there. I don't know what he'll show me. Perhaps some pictures of my family's body, or my friends' dead bodies.

"_Miss Everdeen?_"

"Alright," I find myself whispering. "I'll be there."

I spend twice as long as usual trying to make myself look 'decent'. My hands shake so much eye make-up becomes impossible. None of my current attires look fitting; I end up putting on some skirt-suit and a pair of low heels as part of my minimal effort. I don't know what to do. And I can't call my friends to ask them what to do. Snow might have killed them, and I'd rather not know until later.

Some kind of personal escorts collect me from Floor Twelve at nine thirty. I follow them without questions, for I don't have any. I know I have to be there. Snow's waiting, with whatever bad news he has for me.

The meeting is in the very place I left yesterday's pervert at: the rose gardens. They take me there at nine forty five, and Snow's still in some other meeting I end up sitting there waiting. The roses smell. As in, really smell. It's not unpleasant or anything, just... dizzying. Too much. Too fake. Like everything else Capitol.

I close my eyes, as my brain silently hums out this forbidden song I learned in my childhood.

"_Are you, are you  
__Coming to the tree  
__Where they strung up a man they say murdered three._

_Strange things did happen here  
__No stranger would it be  
__If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

_Are you, are you  
__Coming to the tree  
__Where the dead man called out for his love to flee._

_Strange things did happen here  
__No stranger would it be  
__If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

Will I be meeting my family and friends in the hanging tree today?

"Miss Everdeen."

I open my eyes and straight away stare into those evil eyes of Coriolanus Snow.

"President Snow," I greet him back, straightening my back and lifting my chin up. "Pleased to meet you again."

"I'm pleased to meet you too, Miss Everdeen," he replies, calm and flat. "I heard you felt unwell last night. How are you this morning?"

_Unwell. That's Gale and Johanna and Finnick's pretense for my disappearance._

"I feel much better, Sir," I say. "The headache has gone away."

"Glad to hear that," he responds. There's this subtle, yet sly smile on his lips, as he offers me an arm. "Care for a stroll in the gardens? It's such a nice morning."

Had I not fear for my friends and family, I wouldn't have taken his arm. But I do fear for them, and thus taking his arm it is. He leads the way through the rows and rows of roses, all of which smell the same. Pungent, strong. It hides...

_No, Katniss. Save that thought for later. Listen to all he says._

"I apologize for my friend's behaviour yesterday, Miss Everdeen," he says, out of the blue. "Sometimes, some of us forget just how to be... civilized."

"That..."

I swallow, for it's a lie.

"That's fine, Sir," I finally blurt out, hating every fibre of my being with each word. "I understand."

He pats my arm at this. I swallow once more, as I resist the urge to flinch.

"What a nice, dignified Young Lady you are," he says - _praises._ "With all that you have, I am sure we will still love you even when you are no longer young and beautiful."

_Of course. Of course it's got to him._

"Thank you, Sir," I parrot, for there's no other reaction appropriate for the situation.

Snow takes me around a corner and back to where we started. This can really be over soon.

"I have assessed the situation, Miss Everdeen," he starts again. "And I think you deserve a little gift of apology, after the trouble you went through. The Victors' Welfare Committee have decided to give you freedom to choose where you would stay for the rest of your Capitol visit this time."

What? Has he just told me that I can go back to my apartment. Or... has he just told me that I need to go back to my apartment?

What is waiting for me there?

"Th... thank you Sir," I parrot again, as I stash that thought to the back of my head. "I might go back to my own apartment, if you don't mind."

"By all means, Miss Everdeen," he agrees - immediately. "My staff will take you there."

At this point, we're back where we started. He subtly pat my hand, and I pull away from him. Looks like this is the end of this 'meeting'.

"Once again, I apologize for my friend's behaviour. Now, excuse me, but I will have to attend another meeting."

"Goodbye, Sir," I say - parrot out - again.

"Goodbye, _Katniss_."

He turns around, then pauses and looks over his shoulders.

"My guests really liked your voice."

* * *

I run into my apartment building, as soon as Snow's staff drop me there.

It might be a foolish idea altogether to run. My friends could have been dead for hours now, sitting cold in the apartment waiting for me to find them. But some kind of ridiculous hope tells me that they might still be alive, that I can somehow save them. And thus I run. I run into the elevator. I run through the corridor. I run into the apartment.

"Guys? Finn? Gale? Jo?"

No one answers. I take in a sharp breath, as I step in and close the door behind me.

_They might still be in the Training Center, Katniss_, I tell myself. _You might be the only one dismissed..._

"Hey Brainless."

_Thank you, Heaven._

I turn around and give Johanna this tight hug, which she returns with equal vigour. She's as happy to see me as I am to see her. I don't know what happened to her, or Finnick, or Gale, after I retreated to my room yesterday.

"Glad you don't miss us," she says, as we break apart.

It's only then that I notice that she has her coat and boots on, and that suitcases are piled next to the door. She and Gale are leaving.

"Where are you going?" I ask her.

"Home," she says. "We've been sacked."

"Sacked?"

She offers me a glum smile for that.

"Yeah," she finally answers. "Dismissed. For good. Apparently we've paid all our dues to The Capitol."

"But..."

"Finnick's got to keep his job," she cuts me in. "It's only me and Gale. We lost our Temporary Residency too. We need to leave within the next hour."

As Victors who serve duties in Capitol, we have this Temporary Capitol Residency which allows us to travel back and forth. Without that, Johanna and Gale won't be able to go here on whim again. Which means, I'll only see them twice a year, during the Games and the Tour.

And, heavens knows, but I might've actually gotten their brothers killed.

"Jo," I choke out, "Jo. I'm sorry."

"Don't be stupid," she scolds me. "Just take care of yourself."

Gale appears at the door. It looks like their car is waiting down there at the street.

"Guess this is goodbye, then," Johanna says.

I stand still at my spot, as she gives me this final hug. Gale does the same, squeezing me really hard as if our lives depend on that. Though none of them say anything, I know that they are as sad as I am now. Finnick and I, we are two of the only true friends they still have.

"We'll see you in summer," Gale finally manages to say, after a deep breath. "And we'll call you to talk. Take care, Catnip."

Something honks from the streets. Looks like their time is indeed up.

"Bye," I choke out, as they pick their bags and walk out. "I'm sorry."

No answer to that. It's too late.

I close my eyes and let the tears fall down my cheeks, as I sink against the foyer wall.

* * *

I sit there on the foyer floor for hours, until Finnick gets back from his assignment and pulls me up to the living room couch.

Life goes on as usual for the two of us from then on, for a couple of days. Then it's time for Finnick to go home, back to Annie. She's still pregnant, I heard. Finnick will be home for the birth.

"Good luck," I tell him, as I wave him goodbye at our building door. "I'll call in a couple of days."

He nods, then kisses my head like the older brother he is to me.

The next couple of days pass in silence for me, as I go to assignments, come back home, sleep, wake up to eat, then either go to another assignment or sit down with my loneliness in the apartment. It's funny that my friends' blessings are my curses currently. The more I think about it, the more I realize the kind of things Snow can do. He's taken away my friends, the only people whom I can trust here. His evil ways make me terrified to call home, in case they're all gone now. Snow wants me to feel alone. And yes, he's done it.

I don't think I've ever been more alone than this, even when I was that quiet, scowly girl back home at Twelve.

As promised, I ring Finnick a couple of days after he left. Annie's had their son. They haven't named him yet for the moment - but Finnick says he'll get to call me 'Auntie Kitty'. I don't know why, but I cry when I hear that. I wish I can be there with them celebrating, instead of wallowing alone here.

My release does eventually come, though, a day before I'm due to leave. Delivered in an envelope, with a bouquet of roses, to my apartment. I've been given a vacation from the job. There's no return date specified this time, which means I'll only be back here for the next Games.

Before my stupid stunt, this would have been perfect. But now, it just scares me like anything.

What if he's only sending me back to Twelve to be _alone_? What if... what if...?

I eventually break down and dial my home number.

"_Everdeen residence, District Twelve,_" Prim's voice greets me, after two or three rings.

"Prim!" I scream at her. "Prim!"

"_Katniss? What's wrong?_"

"Nothing," I tell her. "I'm just going home tomorrow."

She squeals happily. My chest constricts, as it dawns on me that one day is enough for Snow to execute any evil plan he has for my sister.

"_What time are you arriving the day after?_"

I check on my ticket.

"Four in the afternoon," I tell her. "Don't pick me up. I'll make my own way."

"_Oh, okay. So happy to finally see you again!_"

I end the conversation at that, for I don't have anything else to say.

* * *

**District Twelve**

Two days later, I'm standing in front of the door inside my train carriage, waiting for the thing to halt so that I can jump off.

A million thoughts play inside my head as we pull over and slow down. I fasten that armour around my heart, remembering my friends' stories - Lord, how I've missed them all - of how they'd found their family members dead when they got back from the Capitol. Telling myself it would be alright. Telling myself that things have happened, and that I won't solve anything by wallowing. Telling myself that...

"Katniss!"

Wait. Who's that?

I open my eyes, and jump straight into my twin's arms as the train comes into a total halt around me.

"Prim! You know you don't have to come, right? Is everyone alright?"

A nod confirms that. Everyone's indeed alright.

"Let's go home," she says, taking one of my bags as the crew unload them from the train. "There's a small homecoming party for you."

I follow her, as I look up at the darkening winter sky above me. I'm not getting punished this time - yet. And I don't know what's happening, or what's waiting for me.

Whatever it is, I hope that mine and Peeta's secret is safe. That I won't be yet another Victor who sends her own lover into the Games through her own stupidity. Because, of all people in the world, he's the one who'll still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful.

**Next: Gale, District Seven, Year of the 74th Hunger Games.**

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone! I'll see you in a few days with chapter ten.

Have a good start of the week!


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: **Thanks for reading everyone, and for staying with this story so far. Special thanks to jc52185 and axes tridents and snares for their reviews. You are all awesome.

This chapter is full Johanna/Gale (twisted) romance, now that I've re-read it. There's a bit of plot at the very end, to help us transition to the 74th Games. I intended this to be a plot builder for the future, but I think it still came out pretty fluffy... Hope it's not too distracting/emotional.

**Disclaimer: **all are Suzanne Collins'. I'm just borrowing. Original characters are mine.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**District Seven, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Gale**

Rory and Sven were both alive and well when Johanna and I stepped out of that train carrying us back from The Capitol. Whatever Snow determined we did, it wasn't enough to warrant immediate deaths for our brothers.

Today, four months after that day, they are still both alive. Looks like it's not Johanna and I Snow is targeting this time. Or, if we're actually his main targets, he's decided that he'll still need us in the future that he still needs the leverages.

Being what Johanna casually calls 'normal, non-Victor boys their age', those boys are hardly ever home. No matter what, though, they'll always crawl back in through that front door, at nine PM the earliest and two AM the latest. Sometimes they'll both be sober, sometimes they'll be both tipsy, and sometimes a mildly drunk Sven will drag a batshit drunk Rory through that door. I've never bothered figuring out which of those illegal makeshift bars actually gets their business. And which district whores.

Now that we've joined Shay and Blight's rank of District Seven's Forgotten Victors, Johanna and I have practically nothing to do. We spend most of our time in our house - or _my _house, as she likes to say. _Her _house stands abandoned across the road, never even visited once since her victory. Her family's old shack was 'robbed'; her mother and sister and brother shot in the dark of the night before she even woke up from her post-Games treatments. She doesn't talk about it at all nowadays, but I know that the empty house still reminds her of what could have been.

Neither of us has been sleeping much since we came back. It's hard to exhaust ourselves, now that we have no job. No one would give us any, even if we offer our services for free. Apparently we're too dangerous to be around others, now that we've proven to them that we can kill. I can't really blame them even when I want to. These people have seen me shooting kids with a makeshift bow and seen Johanna axing several others, all on national television.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

Thus we pour ourselves into our hobbies. I'll sit down and read and draft and think the whole day. Johanna will go to our backyard and throw her axe onto the trees and onto random objects, until she's exhausted and satisfied for the day. Sometimes I'll take her to the forest outside the district fencing where I'd hunted as a kid. We now have a small squirrel farm built inside our backyard's garden shack, to house a dozen or so of those grey creatures she managed to take home inside her jacket. I'm crossing my fingers that the Merchants in town would just buy Rory's story that _we_ are all obsessed with throwing nuts at each other for sports.

The times we don't spend with our hobbies, we spend with our brothers. Like when we were kids, Johanna will side with Rory. They do dangerous random stints just for fun, and talk about crass things which makes me cringe. Sven - studious, quiet Sven - generally gravitates towards me. Like everyone else in our district, he'd never gotten the chance to study things other than trees and The Capitol. I teach him what I can, based on the books I've bought in Capitol and my memories. We managed to brew our own alcohol last week. It was so strong it knocked us boys out of cold, but it's a good business option nevertheless. Just in case we'll one day manage to beat The Capitol and control our own destiny.

Come nighttime, Johanna and I belong to each other and each other only. It's almost like those old days, when she was fifteen and sneaking into my room just to lay topless with me on my bed all night. We find each other again - those old, purer versions of us, really - and do all those things I thought we were way past already. One night, I took her back to that Peacekeeper's house and borrowed the same truck I'd borrowed that night I made her a woman. We drove back to the top of that hill overlooking the dam - _The Hump, _as those other boys in the district said - and parked there for hours, as we talked and reenacted our first time together. I think it worked much better this time around, more _finesse _and less hormones. At one point, we noticed that the seat covers had never been replaced. We could still see those faint blood stains on it. I made a mental note to buy that truck when I'm finally allowed to, just so that I can stop sharing _that _with others too.

Life could've been really good for me, if only I didn't miss Finnick and Katniss. Finnick calls from time to time, like usual, and I make a point to check on Katniss every few days, but it's just not the same without them. I miss those dinnertime banters about the Capitol Clowns and all those idiotic things they've done. I miss doing useless things with them just to pass the time. I miss Finnick's pathetic flirting and Katniss's strong innocence. I haven't even seen the picture of Finnick and Annie's boy, and that boy is supposedly mine and Johanna's godson. It's ridiculous, really, but there are actually so many things from my Capitol life I could do with keeping. Especially when it comes to those two.

I've never regretted sharing that song with Katniss. If anything, I couldn't have been more proud of her, for she'd stood up for her dignity and for all of us Victors. I just wish I could be there for her now. Right now, she can't even share anything with us over the phone. The line could as well be tapped, for all we know. What I know is that her family and her boyfriend are still alive, and that nothing seems to happen in Twelve.

Somehow, I have a bad feeling that Snow's turning her into the next Haymitch. Or, the next me. The boys' Reaping Ball in District Twelve this year will most probably contain some thousand copies of the same slip. That of Katniss's eighteen year old boyfriend, who by all luck and misfortune is still eligible this year.

That, and the fact that Finnick now has a kid Snow can use as leverage, were my main concerns. Until a few seconds ago, when I walked back into the bedroom from my morning hunt and heard Johanna retching in the bathroom.

"Fuck," she groans, as I step through the open door behind her. "Fuck."

"What did you eat last night?" I ask, for it could be the cause for all I know.

She turns away.

"I'm late," she says, her shoulders heaving with that deep breath she takes. "You might have knocked me up."

And sure I have. A secret trip to the district midwife - who's downright scared of us she agrees without questions as we swore her to secrecy - confirms that Johanna is indeed a couple of weeks pregnant. The timeline, and the fact that she had her birth control implant taken out when we were dismissed, tells us that it can only be mine. We are going to have a kid.

...if we're not doing anything about it.

"What do you want to do?" I ask her, as careful as I can muster, when we arrive back in the house.

She doesn't answer me. For a split second, I'm pretty much sure she's planning a visit to that backyard abortionist down the hill. That she's going to kill the thing herself, before Snow can take it from us.

"I..."

Her voice falters, as she blinks and tears start streaming down her face.

"I don't know," she finally croaks out. "I've never thought this would happen."

I stare at her slumped, defeated form. Johanna wears a lot of emotional layers around her, so much that she feels much older and bigger than she really is. But right now, she's her small, young self.

She's only twenty. I'm twenty one. Lord, we're too young for all of these.

"The lady down the hill," I bring out that option to her, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You wanna go there?"

"NO!"

That comes out so quickly it even surprises her, I think. I slip next to her as she drops onto the couch with a hand on her mouth. Her other hand flies to her lower belly, splayed protectively over the baby - _our _baby. I look down at it, as this freezing cold yet searing hot realization dawns on me.

_Heavens. The thing is alive. This creature, who is part Johanna and part me, is now alive._

"You want to keep it," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "Is that what you want?"

She looks up at the ceiling.

"Hell," she croaks out, finally. "Yes. I wanna keep the kid. This is stupid, but I love it already. I can't kill any more people, Gale. I have to keep my child alive."

"Our," I correct her. My eyes feel hot. I don't know why, but I'm _crying_. I swear my heart just broke and mended itself at the same second. "That's our child. We have to keep our child alive."

Johanna looks out of the living room window.

"If you want," she finally says, turning to me. "Thanks for wanting it."

_Heavens. Can this girl break me even more, now?_

"Jo," I say to her, finally. "Marry me."

"Because of this?" she chuckles, pointing at her stomach. "Hell, no. We're not getting married for a kid. Having married parents doesn't make your life better, or make you stay alive longer. No. I'm not marrying you for the kid."

"Marry me for me."

"Huh?" she tilts her head. "Are you _fucking_ high, Hawthorne? You make no sense."

"Marry me, Johanna," I repeat, swallowing all my pride. "You're the only one who keeps me going."

* * *

The wedding happens a month later in the Justice Building, with our brothers and our two fellow Victors as witnesses. There's no party, for there are no guests we can invite. Our parents and other siblings are either dead or missing. The only non-family guests - pairs of guests, really - that we can think about are in districts Four and Twelve, taking care of their own problems.

Old Shay, who mentored Johanna's late sister-in-law Elaine during my Games, ordered a cake for us. The cake shop people got it done to a flawless perfection and deliver it to the small gathering at our house. Whether it's out of fear or out of respect, I don't know. Whatever it is, it won't really make a difference.

"You're still yet to build your bed," Rory reminds us, as we retreat to our bedroom after the little dinner gathering. "I know that you've been going on the one upstairs like rabbits, but... this is District Seven, guys. You must build a bed."

Build-your-own-marital-bed is one of our wedding traditions. It's literally building a bed, together as a couple. It doesn't have to last, or be functional at all. You just have to lay on it and get laid, once. If it lasts, then you're either a good carpenter or a shit lover. If it breaks... well, you know what it means.

"Jo's pregnant, Rory," Sven comments. "She shouldn't really do something like that."

"Gale's not pregnant," Rory shoots back. "He can do all the hard work, Dude! We shouldn't break traditions."

I have a feeling, though, that this is more about being rowdy than not breaking traditions. Rory's one of the most unlucky boys around, when it comes to love. I still remember that drunken confession he made a couple of weeks ago, that even Sven got laid more often than he did recently.

"Fine," Johanna snarls.

The boys grow back at this. All the hormonal changes has made her a hundred time more emotional and a thousand times scarier.

"Find us some good wood, and we'll entertain you tomorrow."

I laugh - _Heavens, when was the last time I really laughed? _- and follow her upstairs, flipping my middle finger at Rory just because.

"WOOT!" my scoundrel of a brother hoots, as we reach that top staircase. "HAVE FUN, GUYS!"

_Damn Rory and his obsession with getting laid._

"Help me getting out of this," Johanna orders, as soon as I close the door behind her. "I can't stand this anymore."

I nod and take that surprisingly angelic sight of her in that cream-colored wedding dress, before I get on with unbuttoning each of those thirty-something buttons. It's been many hours since I button her in this morning, but it feels like no time has passed at all. The day has truly gone in a blink. I hope the kid - or the younger brothers and sisters it might have in the future - won't ask me about it when they grow up.

Johanna lets out that moan of relief as the dress slides off her. She'd purchased that dress the day after the... the proposal, I guess. Since then, she's grown a bit with the pregnancy. The dress got a little bit snug. Especially around the... around the _chest_.

"What?" she balks, as she catches me staring at her on the wardrobe mirror. "It's not that you haven't seen everything. You've knocked me up before, Hawthorne."

I chuckle and pull her into my arms. This girl's my world. I don't know when and how it happened, but she became my world a while ago. It's scary, and by no means healthy, but she's my world. I won't know what to do without her.

"I love you," I tell her.

"Sure you do," she tells me back. "Now, shut up and let me love you, because I do."

* * *

The boys - well, Rory, I suspect - rose to the challenge and found us a couple of logs and a couple of planks the next day, so the bed-building was on. I took care of the design and cut up the parts, and Johanna helped with the hammering and small things. The thing, which we put in one of the empty bedrooms, stood at the end of the night. I'd like to think that it was because we made a pretty good carpenter team, though I must admit our bedroom habits has tamed down a bit since we found out about the baby.

That bed is where I slept for the next few months, as my nightmares intensified. I gave up sleeping next to Johanna about a week after the wedding, after I woke her up in the middle of the night with my jolting and sobbing for the third day in a row. It was mainly her decision, not mine. She literally kicked me out of the room, for apparently the baby wouldn't grow if she didn't sleep.

I must say I wasn't exactly happy about it, though the fact that she loved the kid already made me really glad. Once I got past the initial shock and anger, I actually began to understand her. Especially after I found myself cursing at a loose floorboard nail for nearly tripping my pregnant wife on her way down the stairs. There's this protectiveness we can't shake towards the kid, even when we pretend not to care.

Johanna has never gone to the midwife again. I'm not exactly happy with this, but this is probably for the best. The last thing we want to have is more people involved in our already complicated Victors' situation. We can't really trust anyone now, thanks to The _fucking _Capitol.

As the Reaping Day approached, though, it became more and more apparent to us that we could no longer hide the kid. The whole district heard about the wedding already, and Johanna is definitely bigger than she normally was before. She said she 'popped out' already, whatever that really means. All I know is that she's got this round stomach and noticeably bigger breasts now, whilst not getting any bigger around her arms and legs. Once she's up that reaping stage, the whole Panem would know she's pregnant.

At the end, it was her who gave up on hiding herself, and went prancing around the district telling every single soul we're expecting. Nothing changed, unsurprisingly. Snow must have heard about it, somehow. I know he has some spies around the Victor's Village. One of the must have told him, long long ago, that Johanna looked pregnant.

Finnick has been constantly calling us throughout the months. His boy, Dylan, is growing strong. He'll be there with his father and mother in Capitol for the Seventy Fourth Games, as Annie had specifically been invited to mentor. That fucking bastard Snow has decided to break her further as a 'punishment' for whatever crime he deemed she committed by having Finnick's child _in relative secrecy_. I've never actually realized our term as members of his Elite Prostitute Squad involves not knocking up anyone back home in the districts.

As for Katniss, well, she's still as scared as she initially was after her song incident. She's always there barking into the phone receiver whenever Johanna or I give her a call. Her family and boyfriend are, until our last call a couple of days ago, still alive. And so are Haymitch and Maysilee and their twin sons, and any other friends the Everdeen family has. We couldn't ask much about this boyfriend of hers - _Peeta_ - for obvious reasons. She's been alluding, though, that she's having a great time. I pray, with all the so-called 'faith' I still have, that she's not getting herself pregnant too. Snow is definitely getting this Peeta guy reaped for the Seventy Fourth Games, probably with Katniss's twin sister as a district partner. And as far as I know, The Capitol doesn't let a boy tribute win his Games just because he has an unborn child out there. The Games are the Games. Sick, fucked, evil, every single bad thing there are. There is no room for mercy there.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

Today is the dreaded day. The Seventy Fourth Reaping Day.

Johanna wakes me up at six to get ready. It's the usual start of seven thirty AM here for us at Seven, for the sake of maintaining the continuity of the broadcast.

"The fucking pants don't fit me," she grumbles as she ransacks our wardrobe. "I'm getting too fat."

"You're just pregnant," I comment, as I put on my own shirt.

Something black and silky hits my face. Looks like I didn't really nail it this time.

Breakfast passes with glares and snide remarks, much to my not-so-secret amusement. This angers her further, until the time comes for us to leave the house and that sense of doom kicks in.

"I can't," she silently - and _calmly _- freaks out, once we're standing next to the stage. "I can't do this. I'm having my own baby."

"We'll be alright," I tell her, eyeing those Peacekeepers looking curiously at us. "You can do this, Jo. Come on. You've been doing this for five years now."

In all truth, I don't think we will be alright. And if it had been me saying that, I probably wouldn't have cared. But it's _my_ Johanna and _our _baby's lives at stake now. I'm not going to lose them to some fucking Peacekeepers' guns just because of a stupid thing no one but Snow cares about.

Thankfully, she gets that signal. For the next thirty or so minutes of the Reaping Ceremony, she makes no peep. Not a groan when a sixteen year old from our old neighbourhood is chosen as the female tribute. Not even a single sound, as a thirteen year old boy gets called forward afterwards. My girl - my _wife _- knows how to do us good and proud. I don't think I'll ever be able to tell her this, but I adore her.

"Hope Brainless's alright," she whispers to me, as we make our way to the cars an hour later. "And Finnick. And everyone."

I smile. This is the first time I ever heard her admitting that she worries about someone else.

"So you do worry," I tease her. "Perhaps you should always be pregnant."

_SMACK._

Ouch.

Let's just say I get what I really deserve this time. For the next few hours, she ignores me. It's only after teatime, when we sit with the tributes, Blight, and that escort Daaynne to watch the recap, that the sense of doom kicks in again.

"You have a spot on that chair, Hawthorne?" she asks me. "It's a little bit hard here."

I shift so that she can join me. I know it's not about the couch. It's about the result of District Twelve reaping.

"Oh, you guys are so romantic!" Daaynne gushes, as I sit Johanna on my lap. "The baby's going to be so lucky!"

_Yeah, lucky, _I tell her in my head. _It's gonna get reaped, once it turns fifteen or so._

I freeze at that thought.

_My kid is gonna get reaped._

_I can't let that happen._

"Don't fidget," Johanna mutters, her hand firm on my knee. "I can still fall off here."

"Sorry," I mutter back, giving her a 'thank you' look for snapping me back from the dreadful thoughts. My heart's beating hard in my chest. I can even hear it in my ears. She must have noticed too.

The television turns on by itself. Caesar and Claudius appear, and the usual banters start. Whatever it's about, I don't know. I can't concentrate. My brain is full of plans and drafts, of possible ways of getting my kid - mine and Johanna's kid - out of the reaping pool. Maybe, if we run away from District Seven, we can get away. Maybe, if we overthrow Snow and his Capitol Government...

... an uprising. That's what we need.

That one word rings in my ear throughout the reaping broadcast. It's there, as two scared children from Three were announced tributes. It's there, as I watch Annie sitting with the rest of the district Four Victors on their reaping stage, pale and dishevelled and clutching Finnick's hand for dear life. It's there, as I see myself and Johanna on our stage, sitting with a wary Blight and a tired, defeated Shay. It drums up even harder, as the recap from District Twelve starts and I see a pale, panicked Katniss on the stage.

"She looks a little pale," Daaynne comments, eyeing Johanna and I. "She's your friend, right? Is she sick?"

"Yes and no," I answer, before Johanna can butt in with her remarks. "She's our friend, but I don't think she's sick."

"She _wasn't_," Johanna corrects. "Maybe she is now."

We don't discuss it further, for Effie Trinket is now on the screen, walking towards the girls' reaping ball. She calls out a name, and up appears a twelve year old on the stage. Olive skin, dark hair, grey eyes - a general District Twelve girl. Katniss doesn't flinch. This can't be anyone she personally knows.

"They're all rather young this year," says Daaynne. For a moment, I forget that she's an escort. She sounds so genuine, so concerned. I almost believe that she cares, but, no. She's a Capitolite, and they don't care. "I hope the boy won't be twelve too. Or thirteen"

I look at our boy tribute, who fidgets in his chair. That's really insensitive of Daaynne. She's basically just told this kid that he's going to die. Well, most probably he is, but I don't think he needs to know about it now. She's just killed his hope.

"Here comes male Twelve," Johanna sings out.

Turning back to the screen, I can see that Effie's now pulling a name out of the boys' reaping bowl. That drumming in my ear, which momentarily stopped for Daaynne's careless comments, comes back with a force so strong my head almost explode. This is definitely it. That slip has Katniss's boyfriend's name.

'_Peeta Mellark!_'

_Fuck. You. Very. Much. Capitol._

**Next: Peeta - Train to Capitol and The Remake Center, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

* * *

Alright. Thanks for reading everyone.

I'll see you in a couple of days with the next chapter. Till then, enjoy your Friday and your weekend!


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **Well, hello! Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting this story. Special thanks to jc52185 and axes tridents and snares for the reviews. You guys are my greatest motivators :).

Here's the 74th Hunger Games Training Week events, told from Peeta's POV. We'll see plenty of the other characters here, but the focus is more about Peeta and how he feels about things. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Borrowing characters and settings from Suzanne Collins here. Any (minor) character you don't recognize is most probably my originals - or my attempt in naming a character who is otherwise nameless. The D12 female tribute is (of course) an OC :).

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**Train to Capitol and Remake Center, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Peeta**

The trees outside the window are blurring, and so are my thoughts and feelings.

I'm in my sleeping compartment now, sitting alone on the bed. This will be my bed for the night; this train my home for the night. It's real. I got reaped. I've just been made a tribute for the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, on my last year of eligibility. What I've been wanting this past year is finally coming to me.

Yet having what I wanted, for once, doesn't feel that good. Something feels wrong here. Perhaps it's the fact that Pa cried so openly when he saw me in the Justice Building. Perhaps it's the fact that both my brothers were quiet, and so were their wives. Perhaps it's the fact that Katniss's eyes were swollen and red when I saw her on the platform as we boarded this train. Perhaps it's my survival instinct, which is now berating me full-force for actually wanting this before. Whatever it is, I'm not happy.

I'm sad. I guess it's pretty human to feel that when you're right there on death's door.

My reflection is there on the window glass. The usual face and hair, and my white shirt. When I close my eyes, I can still see Katniss pinning the golden Mockingjay onto the collar. The thing, which I now hold inside my hand, was given to me this morning, during an unusual pre-reaping visit to the bakery.

"_It makes you brave,_" I recall Katniss explaining. "_May the odds be ever in your favour._"

I think she knows all along that I would be reaped. That the trouble she caused Snow is enough to warrant this. She's just never said it out loud, perhaps because somehow she still had this hope that this wouldn't happen. That I'm as safe and sound as she'd like me to be.

But it happened. And there's no use dwelling now. I need to go on. I need to survive.

The escort - Effie - said there would be a bit of time before dinner, so I decide to come out and check out this whole train. Katniss's mockingjay pin - Maysilee's pin, originally - sits in my pants' pocket. I don't have the heart to leave it alone in the compartment. It'll feel close to failing Katniss or leaving her alone.

The mentors' sleeping compartment is located further up, near the driver's car. I will myself not to go there, because I know she needs her privacy at the moment. These past few months, we've been closer than what we both thought two human beings could be. If I loved her before, now I feel that she's an extension of me. And I know she feels the same about me.

I think I'm starting to second-guess myself and my desire to go to the Games and play them my way now. Would it be better for me to be... to be Katniss's lover in district Twelve? To be there for her, as she changes the world? Katniss can change the world just by being herself. She doesn't need a foolish boy who jumps headfirst into a death-match for some fragile dream.

But I didn't volunteer. I was _reaped_. It doesn't matter that I've wanted to be in the Games before now. I am in the Games.

Thoughts. Too many thoughts in my head. I guess I need to draw something now.

I remember seeing a small notepad and a pencil in my compartment, so I turn around and come back to take it. That in my hand, I continue my exploration down the train cars. There are lots and lots of compartments along, all with closed doors. Several avoxes potter around; they give me this scared, respectful nods whenever I pass them. I nod back, because they deserve it. When I get to the last car, though, I'm all alone. With nothing but the fresh air let in by the open window, and the scenery zooming out before me.

Two hundred miles per hour. I'm hundreds and hundreds of miles away from home now.

So I sit down and draw. I draw home, as I remember it. My room - the place where I grew up, where I learned how to draw and how to be, where I had Katniss in my arms. The bakery's kitchen, where I learned how to bake and how to do my favourite task of decorating the cakes. The road to school, where I've talked and jostled with Prim and Katniss and our other friends. Delly's parents' shoe shop, where we kids sometimes hang around. Penny's parents' tailors' workroom, where her now long-gone brother Colton - _bless his soul _- entertained us with his stories while working on the town women's daily dresses and the occasional suits. The meadow. The woods. Everything.

I only stop when all the memories have been replayed, and the summer sky's darkening before me. My heart feels lighter, though much more somber. I've just ended an era. I've just closed the last page of the book of Peeta Mellark, youngest son of the district Twelve baker.

They are all ready for dinner when I come in to join them. Effie, blabbering to Maysilee about dresses and make-ups and latest Victors' gossips which I've heard from Katniss. Haymitch, swirling his glass of white liquor with pursed lips, clearly unhappy to be here. Katniss, those tinted glasses she often wears on television appearances on, silent and bowing over her empty plate. My district partner, the twelve year old from the Seam, looking at everyone with jaded grey eyes. She looks so young. She's too young for this.

"Sorry for making you guys waiting," I say, as I take the only empty seat on the table. "I lost track of time drawing, again."

"Finally," Effie sighs dramatically, "someone with good manners! I've started thinking that eighty percent of you there in Twelve are barbarians!"

"We are, Princess," Haymitch comments dryly. "At least, to yer' dumb, broad-and-wide definition."

"Let's start," Maysilee interjects, her eyes darting momentarily between her husband and her friend. "I'm a little bit hungry here."

Katniss chooses that very moment to start tearing absent-mindedly on her bread roll. I smile, for this seemingly-dysfunctional team is way more functional than they actually seem. They actually work well together.

"You should try the fish!" Effie fusses at me and my district partner. "It's fresh from District Four! It's really, really, really good!"

I smile and serve my stone-silent, small district partner some fish before getting some for myself. Fish is not an entirely new food for me. Katniss's friend from District Four, Finnick Odair, always sends the Everdeens some frozen ones. Whenever it arrives, Prim is guaranteed to invite me, Delly, Penny, and the boys for dinner.

"It's great," my district partner comments, as she takes careful nibbles on the thing. Being from what I think is one of the poorest Seam families, she eats with her hands. It doesn't deter me, or Katniss, or Haymitch, or Maysilee for that matter, but Effie's now looking at her in disgust. I need to help her.

"It's safer with the knife and fork," I tell her. "You won't prick your fingers with the bones."

She tilts her head at me suspiciously, at first. My words seem to work, though, for she picks up the fork and knife and starts imitating the rest of us the next second.

"I'm amazed by how good ye'r with kids, Boys," Haymitch comments. "Ye'r the baker's runt, right?"

"I'm youngest," I confirm. "Some of my friends have little brothers and little sisters, though, so I guess I'm a big brother of some sort."

"My friend told me you're nice," my small district partner says, looking at me. "Didn't believe her, but you're actually nice."

Her gaze falls onto her plate again after this. I think she's sure she won't be able to beat me in the Games. I don't know what tactic she has in mind, or if she has any at all, but now I know that allying with me is definitely not in her agenda. Well, this can change. I don't exactly know what I'm gonna do, but I've always been sure that I'm going to try and keep my district partner alive.

"He is," Katniss speaks up, for the first time since we get into this train. "You're in good hands, Lore."

Lore. That's the small girl's name. I've thought it's something like that, but I was waiting for someone else to confirm before I start using it.

"Indeed," Maysilee agrees, in between bites of fish. "Don't get too worried."

I pat Lore's shoulder in reassurance. Now that I've gotten this ever-so-subtle request from all our three different mentors to look after her, I'm sure what I'm gonna do now.

The rest of dinner passes with Effie and Maysilee talking about things, Katniss and Lore eating, and Haymitch drinking and butting into conversation with crass, sharp remarks. After they've served some marvelously-made sweets and hot chocolate for dessert, it's now time to watch the reaping recaps. Effie herds us all to the lounge room, where the television on the wall soon turns itself on. As the recap starts, Maysilee reminds us to pay attention to each tribute, and thus that's what I do. It's hard, though, at times, not to pay attention to the Victors on the stage instead. Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair at district Four, hanging onto each other. Gale Hawthorne and a visibly pregnant Johanna Mason at Seven, looking straight at the audience as two children got reaped. And, in our own district, Katniss. Panicked and worried, gripping onto her chair for dear life.

Even after you've won it, the terror of the Games just doesn't end.

"I've never realized your friend Johanna is pregnant, Katniss!" Effie exclaims, as soon as the screen goes dark again. "Is the baby Gale's?"

"Yes," Katniss answers, somewhat uncomfortable. "They're married now."

"Oh!" Effie says again. "Good news! Never thought they'll be the ones who do things in correct order! I heard Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta aren't even married now, and their baby is almost old enough to crawl!"

"Maybe they can't?" Katniss challenges. I remember her telling me that President Snow is not allowing Finnick to marry - yet. Obviously she can't tell Effie this, but I know she won't just let that comment slide. Katniss is really protective of her friends. They're part of her small group of loved ones.

"Oh!" Effie exclaims. "Is that rumour that Finnick's married to that fashion empire heiress true?"

"No," Katniss cuts in quickly. "Actually... nevermind."

The topic quickly gets dropped, in favour of conversations about the other tributes. The mentors - and Effie - all agree that District Two's outdone themselves sending the most hardened, sadistic volunteers this year. Haymitch mentions something about District One kids looking airheaded; I find myself agreeing with his observations, upon replaying their volunteering statements in my head. Maysilee recalls that boy Three and girl Five look smart. Katniss comments on the builds and poise of the girl from Seven and the boy from Eleven, as well as the cheerful demeanour of the little girl from Eleven. Someone says that boy Four is way younger than his predecessors usually are, and that there seems to be a lot of young children in the lineup this year. I don't really know who says what anymore past that, for my brain's fuzzed up with tiredness. Today is indeed a long, long, long day.

Bedtime comes soon afterwards. I walk Lore - in a true big brother fashion - to her compartment and make my way to my own. Sleep comes to me as soon as my head hits the pillow, dreamless and void for the tiredness.

* * *

Just as any normal day would, my day starts with a sliver of sunray slipping through my window. And the familiar warmth and scent of Katniss, pressed against me.

Except, we're in the tribute train now, and not in my bedroom. I'm going to the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games as the male tribute from Twelve; as one of her mentees.

We'll both be doomed if anyone sees us like this.

"Katniss," I shake her gently. "Katniss. Wake up."

She stirs and looks at me. Even now, I can already see that she's certainly lacking sleep. She just looks so tired.

"Morning," she mumbles, as she sits up. "Hope you don't mind me here."

"I don't," I confess. "It's just... Katniss, this is just unkind to Lore. I don't want to take away her hope, especially because I'm not going to abandon her and I'm sure you won't, too."

"I know," Katniss responds. She looks agonized. "But I couldn't sleep. I just had to come here."

I sigh as I pull her into my arms. This is hard. None of us here in this train is exactly having an easy time.

"Haymitch and Maysilee know about us," she tells me, as we sit together under the morning sunlight. "They're going to help. You're going to win. You're going to come back."

"As myself," I add. "I'm going to come back as myself."

"As yourself."

I don't think she fully understands what I mean, yet, but this is good enough for the time being.

We stalk out the compartment some short minutes later, making use of that time when everyone's still asleep. There are pots of hot chocolates and tea and coffee on the dining table, and we continue our game of pretending by poising as two early risers having morning drinks. Effie praises me for my manners, again, as she joins us shortly afterwards. I don't know many of our previous tributes, but I have an impression that she's just hard to impress when it comes to manners.

Breakfast passes in a blink of an eye. Before we all know, Lore and I are standing before the train door, ready to take our first step into the Capitol. The train station outside is full of big fans of The Hunger Games, waving flags and banners and clapping excitedly for us. It's really overwhelming. I take a deep breath and wave back, as Lore shrinks a bit next to me.

"You'll be fine," I hear Katniss telling Lore behind us. "Just stick with Peeta."

Stick with me she does, throughout our short walk. We're put in separate black cars when we reach the gate, sent to what Katniss calls a 'Remake Center'. I suspect it's yet another derogatory term Capitol uses to speak about us in the districts. They assume we should all be 'remade'.

My 'remaking' consists of some serious body-hair removal, dousing, and scrubbing. The team of three Capitolites who handles the job is pretty funny. I joke back and forth with them as we go along. I'm put in an undershort and a robe when they finished, and sent to some other room with a single couch in the middle. A woman with dark skin - not dark dark, slightly towards the lighter shade - soon appears. She introduces herself as Portia, and says that she's going to be my stylist throughout the Games.

"This might come out slightly wrong, but I'm glad that they reaped someone who actually has a chance this year," she tells me quietly, as we sit down to talk. "I styled Ted last year, and it hurt a lot the whole time. Knowing that you would definitely not see your tribute again is just... horrific."

"It must be," I try to sympathize. Katniss and everyone else I know have this really strong opinion that most Capitolites are cruel and ignorant, but I might beg to differ. All that I've seen so far - Effie, the 'prep team', and now Portia - are not at all cruel. Portia's even the opposite of it. She does actually care.

"Tell me what your life's like," she says, after a couple of seconds of silence. "I've got some outfits lined up for your training and interview, but it'll be good to have something which is... you. Your style should extend you. It should reflect who you are."

"Well," I tell her. "Not sure if this will be interesting, but my father owns the bakery. I've helped him since I was little, making breads and all. I, uh, like decorating cakes. And sketching. And I don't really like school, but that's just because they don't teach me how to be a better baker or painter there."

She nods and jabs some notes on this little electronic device she carries.

"I think I know what we'll do," she tells me with a smile afterwards. "You're kind and personable, Peeta. I'm going to modify that one outfit I have in mind to suit you better."

I thank her, whatever she actually means, and let her order some lunch for us. We talk as we eat, and I get to know her better. She was born here in Capitol - in the poorer part, apparently. Being a stylist and fashion designer has been her dream since she was little. Katniss's old stylist, Cinna, who's now stopped styling for the Games, is her friend from fashion school. It's through him that she became inspired to style district _Twelve, _even though she was actually offered the styling role for district Five.

"We're gonna use Cinna's outfit from Katniss's year," she tells me, as she unveils my Tribute Parade outfit. It's the same black thing with flaming cape the tributes from Twelve have been dressed in since Katniss's year. I notice there's something different with mine, though - something's glinting on the side, reflecting the bright light of this room.

"With a modification."

Now, that explains it.

I decide to not ask further about it, as the parade draws near. Portia helps and zips me into it and slick my hair back. There's a little bit of face make-up involved too, which doesn't really surprise me. I know they've always done something to the boy tributes' faces, even when it's so subtle the camera won't really pick it up.

"Ready to go," Portia tells me, as she stands behind me in front of the mirror. "You're going to be dashing, Peeta Mellark."

We then make our way to the barn where all the chariots are. It looks like we indeed lost track of time, for most other tributes are there already. The kids from One, who are as giggly and superficial as they seem in their reaping, in their semi-transparent costumes. The brute and the little scary girl from Two, wearing some knight outfits with fake swords. District Three. District Four, dressed like pirates. Five with their lightbulb costumes. Seven - trees. Eight - patchwork quilts. Ten - cowboys. Eleven - fruit and vegetable. And there, at the last chariot, my district partner Lore, standing scared and alone in a costume similar to mine.

"Where's your stylist?" Portia asks her.

"Gone," she answers, sounding small and meek for once.

Portia sighs.

"I wish Cinna hadn't quit," she whispers to me then. "This other stylist is... oh, well."

We shift our focus on getting Lore comfortable and arranging our positions to balance the chariot afterwards. As that first warning buzzer sounds, Portia points out those buttons inside our wrists, which we'll have to press once we've passed the first big screen on the side of the road.

"Remember!" she says sternly. "That's the most important part."

That's what I remember and hang on to, as we launch forward to the streets of Capitol. Lore hangs on to me for dear life, like a little sister I've never had. And I hang on to her for our lives and sanities, as the rush and fear and strange excitement takes me over.

"Button," I tell Lore, as that first screen finally zooms next to us.

She nods, and together, we press those buttons.

At first, nothing seem to happen. Then, slowly, I notice the change in Lore's costume. That sparkly part on the side is... growing. It's as if it's eating the coal-coloured fabric around it, transforming her from flaming coal into something else.

Diamond.

Katniss once told me that there's this thing similar to coal called graphite, which will turn into diamonds if you apply enough pressure on them. I think I know what the stylists are - what _Portia is _- doing.

"Peeta, you're sparkly now!" Lore hisses excitedly.

"You sparkle too," I tell her with a smile.

Our chariot stops in a halt seconds later, right in front of a big stage. There, stands the man I've been wanting to see all my life. President Coriolanus Snow, who is responsible for Panem and everything happening in it. The man who's enforced all these rules limiting and confining us in the districts.

The person I wish to challenge, in the most peaceful way possible.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he announces. "Our tributes for the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games!"

Cheers and claps erupt from the crowd. It's all celebratory here. I can't help but thinking about those poor families in the districts watching their children going to the Games. Including Lore's. Including mine. They must be seeing this now. It's mandatory viewing.

"Lore," I say quietly, as something suddenly inspires me. "Let's say hi to our families."

"How?" she asks.

I ransack my brain for a while.

"The three finger salute?" I suggest finally.

"But that's for the dead," she frowns.

"That's from our district, though," I remind her. "They're the only ones who'll get it."

She thinks for a bit.

"Okay," she tells me. "One, two, three."

We kiss three fingers on our left hands and hold them up in the air. At this point, we've started moving again - this time towards that building behind the stage. But I know the camera's still following. I've sent my message to my Pa, my brothers and their families, Prim and her mother, Delly, Penny, and our friends.

_I am still here, and still me._

**to be continued...**

* * *

Okay, everyone, that's it for this chapter. The next one is still Peeta, describing the next events of his Training Week. His Games will be done in another character's POV (I'll let you guess who it'll be :)).

From this week on, I will update this story weekly, in order to maintain the chapter qualities (I feel like I've been spreading myself too thin and sacrificing the qualities of my chapters lately). It'll most likely be mid-week (Wednesday/Thursday GMT +10), and each chapter will have at least 3,000 words (on the weeks where my chapters are short, I will post two or more to make up).

Hope you'll continue enjoying this story, and see you next week! :)


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: **Okay. Thanks to everyone who reads, follows, favourites, and special thanks to my reviewers jc52185 and axes tridents and snares. You are all awesome.

**Disclaimer:** THG and its characters belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

**Capitol, Year of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games**

**Peeta**

Floor Twelve, which will be my home for the next week or so, is nothing like any other living quarters I've seen so far.

It's spacious and aesthetic, with this quirky dining room, panoramic windows, and lots of technology pieces I don't quite get yet. The lounge is huge, warm, and inviting, with enough spots for everyone to lay down while they watch that wall-sized television. I might have gaped in awe of the way everything's laid out when I stepped out of the lift a few minutes ago, I think. Not that anyone paid attention, though. Effie was briefing an avox of what she thought would be appropriate for dinner, and the Abernathys were huddled on the couch talking about some serious sounding thing. Katniss was - and until now is - nowhere to be seen. Either she's in her room or with her friends somewhere.

I'm now changing out of my parade outfit in my room. It's a quiet little spot at the corner of this floor, with sunset-orange walls and light blue draperies. Effie, who escorted Lore and I to our rooms, said that our female mentors were in charge of room assignment this year. I suspect it's more of Katniss's choice than Maysilee, though, for there's no other person who knows that sunset orange is my favourite color.

The wardrobe I've been provided with is... huge. Pants, shirts, jackets, every kind of boys' garment imaginable. I settle with some comfortable looking pants and a T-shirt for the evening. I think I'll be staying in the entire night.

Such an irony that Capitol gives us tributes such luxuries, just before sending us to death. Most of the things here, I think, would benefit those living kids in the districts more.

Someone knocks on my door.

"Dinnertime, young man!"

That's Effie, announcing dinner. I guess I should go, just to see how Lore and Katniss are doing.

The dining room's alive with chatters when I finally get there. Maysilee and Effie are getting Lore to tell them more of her life and family. They're now listening to her stories about her _seven _siblings. Haymitch's sitting at the head of the table, swirling something in his glass while talking to a dark-haired young man who looks like a Seam boy. For a split second, I really think there's a fourth mentor I've forgotten about, until he tilts his head a bit and I realize that he's that district Seven Victor Gale Hawthorne.

"We've got a guest tonight," Effie says, as I sit down on that chair next to her. "He's apparently upset his wife and got kicked out of his own floor. Serves him right."

I smile at Effie, for I don't think Gale will appreciate me laughing.

"Where's Katniss?" I ask, trying hard to sound casual.

"With this fool's crying girl at Floor Seven," Haymitch answers, pointing at Gale. "We're swapping Sweetheart for him tonight. Sister for brother. And apparently they're both my kids."

Now, that sounds confusing. Judging Maysilee's hysterical laughter and Effie's eyeroll, though, it can't really be serious. Perhaps a local rumor or something like that. Haymitch, Katniss, and this guy Gale, they all share this dark, Seam look.

"Really?" Lore asks. Looks like she's fallen for the thing.

"Of course not, Lore Dear!" Effie says, a horrified expression on her face. "It's just a gossip! Haymitch didn't father those two! They're not even related!"

So, yes, it's just a rumor. Or, a gossip, as Effie puts it.

"How do you know?" Gale asks her. I can tell that he's not buying the story either, though. It's written all over his face.

"Oh, stop goofing around, you scoundrel!" Effie chides him, shaking her head. "I would've been notified if that's the truth!"

I don't know what that means, but it can as well mean that The Capitol knows so much about all the district residents. They do collect our blood when we were born, for identification purposes. They don't want anyone to be able to pretend to be someone else, especially during reapings.

Dinner is then served, and I occupy myself talking to Lore, Maysilee, and Effie. Haymitch just drinks on, like usual. And this guy Gale, well, he just eats and looks on. I can't help but feeling that his eyes are on _me _most of the times, though. I'm being studied.

Maybe this is just some kind of hope or suspicion, but I have a feeling that Katniss's friends are all in to get me out of the Arena alive.

We swap him back for Katniss when she comes back from Floor Seven an hour or two later.

"She's changed her mind," Katniss says, sounding a bit awkward and strained. "She wants you back now."

"Alright," Gale gets up, without any fight or question. "I'll get back there to her."

The pretense could have worked better, I think, if only these two were better actors than they are now.

The rest of the night is spent watching the parade recaps and sleeping. I have Katniss in my room, again, tonight. Maybe I shouldn't really do this, but I let her be. As much as I want to do the right thing and get her to sleep in her own room, I just can't let her go. These will most probably be the last days I'll get to spend with her. My odds of surviving the Games is gonna be so little, if I'm playing it the way I've planned to: _my_ way.

Breakfast guest for the next morning is Finnick Odair, whose girlfriend Annie apparently needs Katniss's help picking out an outfit. Unlike Gale, Finnick's really talkative. He chats us about our lives, though I do notice that most of his questions are directed to me. An hour before training starts, he disappears, most probably to give Lore and I some time to get ready. We later see him again, though, as we share our elevator with him on our way to the Training Floor. He's going out somewhere, dressed like a true Capitolite.

"Where do you think he's going?" Lore asks me innocently, as we make our way to where all the other tributes are.

"Well, I don't know, Lore," I answer her. "I think the Victors have some kind of work they do outside the Training Center and the Games. Maybe he's off to shoot one of those commercials."

Well, we've actually seen a perfume commercial starring Finnick - and the district Seven guys and Katniss - yesterday night. That's a very valid reason indeed.

The training starts with briefing from that Head Trainer Atala. It's not surprising for me to learn that most tributes would die of starvation, exposure, or infections. There are not usually many melees and fights past the bloodbath, perhaps three or so for each Games. To survive inside an Arena without food and water for two weeks, though, is another thing. And to nurse an infected wound... that's almost impossible. Unless, if you have some allies who still stick with you afterwards.

The floor is divided into several different stations, each with its own supervising trainer. I skip wrestling and camouflage, which I already know, and head for weapons. My training buddies for the morning are Cato from Two and the girl from Seven who is not telling anyone her name. I pretend not to notice as Cato openly laughs at my attempts on swords. At the end, it pays off, though, for girl Seven actually sides with me and starts teaching me how to throw an axe. Even though we decide that at the end that I should probably stick with spear throwing, it was still a fun experience. And I think girl Seven - Michaela, as she quietly tells me as we head for lunch - now trusts me.

I spend lunchtime explaining the different district breads to my district partner Lore, my new friend Michaela, and the little girl from Eleven, Rue, who decides to sit with us. After that, I spend my time with the boy from Three in edible plants station, trying to ignore the boy from One and the girl from Two who keep taunting others despite being terrible at this. There's this moment when I nearly fall off the obstacle course afterwards; I ignore those kids from One and Two as they again laugh at me. Their laughter is short-lived anyway, for that silent, sly-looking girl from Five chooses that very moment to slip and fall onto a crumbling stack of wrestling mattresses. I don't know what really happens next, but Girl Five is still alive and walking at the end of the day, so it couldn't have been that bad.

Dinner is a strictly District Twelve affair tonight, without any guests. There's no Katniss as well, though, wherever she is.

"Where's Katniss?" Lore asks.

Effie and Maysilee exchange looks at this.

"She's out," Haymitch answers for them, not even looking up from his glass. "She'll be back later."

She's not back for dessert, or for our short television-watching session afterwards. It's only much later that night, as I sit on the couch waiting for her to come back, that she appears. God, she looks just miserable. As if...

"What are you doing here?" she snaps at me, as she sees me.

"Waiting for you," I answer her. "I... I want to talk."

That's a near slip up, actually. I almost said I was worried for her. By some luck, I realized that it's probably a bad idea, this situation with us hiding our relationship and all.

"Maybe tomorrow," she refuses. "I just... I need to sleep."

She leaves me alone at that. I watch her walk back to her room, slumped and trembling. What happened? Has anyone...

Someone's sobbing. Is she crying?

"Katniss!" I hiss at her. "Katniss! Wait!"

She just walks on. I stride over to her and grab her arm - as gently as I can - for I really need to know what happened.

"Don't," she says, turning her head away from me. "I... I'm just back from a date."

_Date._

She's just back from one of her assignments.

Someone else has just touched her.

"Alright," I croak out, as this all become too overwhelming to me. "Rest well, Katniss."

One of the lounge plush couches becomes my bed for the night, as I lay there staring outside the panoramic window. Watching out for my broken, battered girl whom I know is laying awake in her room.

* * *

The next morning passes, again, without guests. I train the whole day and make some new friends down there at the training floor, including Michaela's district partner and the girl from Eight. Lore has also made her own friend in the young boy from Four, who's not much older than she is. We all have lunch together, and team up at the stations. Training feels so much like a fun exercise with these kids around. It would've been perfect, had we all not remember we are all here to die.

That night, Katniss sneaks into my room after everyone else sleeps. I hold her close, as she snuggles to me, quiet and almost apologetic. We don't really say anything, as we know Snow's watching us with some hidden microphones. I thank the stars that nothing really came out of my mouth yesterday night, for I've really forgotten about those in my anger and sadness. Had any word really come out, I would've landed Katniss in a bigger trouble than the one she's already in.

My third and final day of training, too, passes without any significant event. We have a dinner guest, though. Johanna Mason - Johanna _Hawthorne_. She has apparently 'gotten into another fight' with her husband Gale, and this time 'stormed out' of her floor instead. Unlike those other times we had guests, Katniss is here too. She picks on her food and looks warily, as her pregnant friend makes crass jokes with Haymitch and teases both Lore and I mercilessly. Looks like everything Katniss has told me about her, which I've never really taken to face value before, is indeed true.

Katniss is out on yet another 'date', though, that night. I think I only fall asleep when I hear the clicks of her heels coming in from the lift foyer.

The fourth day, which everyone dreads, comes and goes just like that. Perhaps because I've decided not to care at all about my Individual Training Score, or that of the other tributes. I spend most of the day trying to relax and help Lore relaxing, while casually thinking of what I'm going to show. Maybe I'm a little bit of a foolish freak here, but I feel at total peace when the Gamemakers finally call me into the Training Room. As in, I'll be happy with whatever I get.

"Peeta Mellark, district Twelve," I announce myself as instructed.

Some heads nod, some others turn interestedly towards me, and some others just don't react. Looks like I'm neither top nor bottom seed, so far.

They all dismiss me fifteen minutes later, after I've shown them my crude spear-throwing skills, my hammock art, and how I'll fare at obstacle courses. It's funny, I think, but I didn't feel that desire to go for camouflage or weights at all during my session. Like, I didn't really want them to see me drawing, see me wrestling, see me doing what I love. I didn't want them to see the real me.

All members of Team Twelve, except Haymitch, are ball of nerves when the scores are finally announced. I must admit I'm pretty nervous myself, for some unknown reasons. Perhaps this is just a normal thing, well, who knows? What happened has happened. I just need to face it now.

"What do you think you'd get?" Lore's clueless, insensitive stylist asks her.

"Oh, shut yer mouth," Haymitch intervenes, before any damage is done. "It's starting, ya' fool!"

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are now discussing their predictions on the screen. There's no mention of Lore and I, at all. I think the top seed this year is the boy from Two, Cato. Or, as my new friends secretly like to say, "The Brute".

And, true, he ended up with a ten. The highest score given this year, shared with his district partner Clove and the boy from Eleven Thresh. The second highest score of nine was given to the kids from One - Marvel and Glimmer -, the girl from Four, and my friend Michaela from Seven. Rue from Eleven scored a seven, and so did Lore. The Gamemakers awarded me an eight. I'm not really sure where it came from, but I think it's good enough.

Katniss sleeps next to me again that night. It's Haymitch who helps me with my interview contents though, when the next morning comes. Maysilee's busy with some sponsorship meetings, and Katniss has apparently been banned from participating in interview training.

"Sweetheart," Haymitch explains, as I ask him why he's banned Katniss, "is just as charming as a dead slug. Ya' won't want to be trained by her, Boy. She's the worst interview trainer ya'll ever have."

He pauses, before adding, "such a girlfriend you have there."

I think my heart just leaped out of my ribcage.

"Haymitch," I tell him. "You know that..."

He produces a small device from his pocket, then points at his ear and makes an 'x' gesture with his fingers. Looks like someone has indeed found a way to block Snow's microphones.

"Still need another angle?" he then asks me, a glint of something in his eyes.

"I don't think I want to cry on the stage, Haymitch," I tell him. "It'll really break her heart."

The 'lover' angle has obviously been played before, really well, by Maysilee Donner Abernathy and Johanna Mason Hawthorne. I wasn't yet born when Maysilee was interviewed, but people have told me that she'd spoken so emotionally about her 'clever boy' and the sweet relationship they shared. And Johanna, well, I remember her bursting into tears as soon as Caesar mentioned the 'rumor' that she was 'rather close' to her mentor Gale. People have always since thought the tears were fake, but I have another theory. I think those were the only _genuine _tears Johanna shed during her training week and the Games.

"There's absolutely no need to cry, Boy," Haymitch replies wearily. "The Capitol's pretty particular about not sponsoring a boy who cries a river in his interview."

I let out a polite laugh, for I don't have any other appropriate reaction to that.

"Then what do you suggest that I do?" I ask afterwards.

"Ya' love that girl," he answers me. "And that's all ya' should know."

The interview content preparation ends up there, as Haymitch leaves me to go see his friend. I spend the next few hours sketching, as I wait for my next session with Effie.

The session with Effie, which is all about presentation and poise, passes just like that. Effie really picks favourites, and I have an impression that I'm perfect in her eyes. Not that it's a really comfortable thing, but it means that she, too, releases me early, giving me more time to sit with myself.

Dinner is a rather quiet affair. None of us really have things to say. The night dies down quickly afterwards, as all our mentors retreat early. Lore falls asleep crying on the couch, as the realization that the Games begin the day after tomorrow dawns on her. I help Effie carrying her to her room, then leave them alone so that Effie can put her to bed. Something's not right in my head. It's pounding hard. I think my survival instinct is screaming at me again.

It's close to midnight, when my door finally creaks open. There, at the foot of my bed, stands Katniss. With the pants, shirt, and her single braid, she looks like someone who's going out of the house instead of going to bed.

"Rooftop?" she mouths.

I nod and put back the clothes from yesterday, so that I can join her.

As we get to the rooftop, I immediately regret not finding this place earlier. It's something like nothing else, with the view of the skyline and that garden in the middle. We sit next to each other on one of the benches, gazing at the stars above us. Tomorrow, we'll be gazing at these stars from two different places. And the next day, she might as well gaze at this stars alone, as I gaze into nothingness.

"I hope you forgive me for this," she says, turning away from me. "I just couldn't let _that _be."

I know the whole story of how my reaping came to be. Of how some bastard tried to _have_ her in the middle of Snow's rose garden. Of how she'd escaped, then come back with the song. Of that meeting Snow called her in for the next day, and all the insinuations. Of how adamant Snow was to take away everything she relied on, slowly and painfully, so that he could break her.

"Don't say sorry," I tell her, as I clasp her hand in mine. "You were just doing what you had to."

She doesn't respond. Maybe she's buying my words. Maybe she's not. But her hand clasps mine back, telling me that she's indeed here with me.

"We'll all help you from here," she says. There's a flickering flame in her eyes as she turns back and looks at me. "Haymitch brought Maysilee back. Gale brought Johanna back. Finnick brought Annie back. I will bring you back, Peeta. I promise."

"As myself," I reiterate. The words feel heavy. I can't really tell her the truth, can't tell her my plan. I think I'll break if she pleads me not to.

She closes her eyes and let the tears fall.

"As yourself," she finally says, her words fleeting and tentative this time.

* * *

We kiss that night. And make love, really quietly, in her room, for one last time. There'll be no time for more afterwards. Tonight, we'll spend the night apart. Tomorrow night, I might not even be alive.

"Stay with me," she pleads quietly, as I sit up and pick up my clothes afterwards.

Now, this plea. It always gets me.

"Always," I say to her, as I drop my clothes and lay on her bed, again. It's not a lie. I'll always stay with her. Whether it is in flesh, or in spirit, I don't know for now. But I'll stay with her.

We wake up together the next morning, early enough for me to slip out of her room unnoticed. Breakfast is spent with the Abernathys, Effie, a really quiet Lore, and the stylists who have arrived. The morning is then gone with scrubbing and prepping, and before I know, Portia is already helping me into my suit jacket.

"Hope you don't mind the plain thing," she says apologetically, as she smooths the fine wool of the suit and straightens the flame-colored lapels. "Can't really do what Cinna did with Katniss's gown. It just doesn't work for a boy."

For Katniss's interview, Cinna had created this dress which looked like it was flaming when she twirled. It put her in absolute limelight back then, and earned her the nickname "Girl on Fire". Portia was right in that the same trick might not work on a boy, though. She shouldn't need to apologize.

"This is perfect, Portia," I tell her, as I take another look at my suit in the mirror. "The colors just match coal and flame. Thanks for this."

She stops working to give me a hug.

"You'll do really well, Peeta," she says. "Nice. Personable. Just be yourself."

Myself. Katniss's lover. That's all I bring with me, to my interview.

Being themselves is not in everyone else's agenda, though. As I take my place at the back of the tributes' line, all I can see are these grown-up strangers. None of those kids I've been training with these past few days. Even Lore looks much older than her twelve years old. Publication stunts, I guess. Strategies to get sponsors. The bigger and surer and stronger you look, the more The Capitolites would like you, I guess. And maybe they'll also sponsor someone like Glimmer from one, who wears a transparent dress. Katniss tells me The Capitol is all about _pleasure._

"To the stage, everyone!"

I walk behind Lore, careful not to catch up too fast with the pace, as the line moves towards the stage. There wait our twenty four waiting seats, and Caesar Flickerman and his interview seat. I remember that last year they have the Seventy Second Victor up here. This year, they're back to not having anyone, I think, for there's no sign at all of that boy from Five who won last year.

We all take our seats, and not long after, Caesar calls Glimmer forward. Then before long, it's boy One's turn, then girl Two - Clove - and Cato. These kids of the Career pack, they're different but similar. They're all trained to win at any cost.

I clench my fist, as I remind myself that I am not them.

District Three. District Four - who look like they're not going to join the Career Pack this year. Five, with that smart, sly redheaded girl. Six, who both don't make sense. Michaela and her young district partner from Seven, playing their strengths to the maximum. Eight. Nine. Ten. Rue from Eleven, who's witty and loveable. Thresh, boy Eleven, who's tall, broad, and brooding.

Then, it's Lore's turn.

And I start to panic, a bit.

I sit there on my spot, calming myself down, as Lore answers questions and questions and questions from Caesar Flickerman. She looks downright scared, even when Caesar's helping her. I don't blame her. She's a child. I have no idea why they're doing it to a child.

_Buzz._

That's it for Lore. It's my turn now.

I inhale, as I rise from my spot and walk over to the hot seat.

"Peeta Mellark!" Caesar exclaims, as I sit down across him. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good," I answer. "Must say I had a scare with the shower this morning, but it's pretty good nevertheless."

Laughter. This crowd likes jokes.

"A scare with the shower!" Caesar says. "Care to share more about it with us, Peeta?"

"Sure," I say. "Well, as you perhaps know, we don't really have showers back home in Twelve. Well, Haymitch and Maysilee and Katniss do, but I don't."

I pause for a bit to wave at my mentors who sit in the crowd. They all return, with different degrees of enthusiasm. Maysilee's hand is waving wildly, her usual smile on her face. Haymitch gives me this lazy wave, before turning back to watching one of the tributes behind me. And Katniss. My Katniss. She waves once, then falls back into silence.

I force my eyes away from her, and set on to continue my story to Caesar.

"So, anyway. Let's just say I found a new toy in that shower in my bathroom. Press one button, press two, press three, and so on. It'd been good so far, until this morning when I pressed them all by accident and got this really interesting one."

Roaring laughter. This crowd indeed gets my joke.

"I still smell like it, I think," I hold out my hand to Caesar, just as a punchline. "Try it."

To my surprise, he sniffs my hand. It proves to be a good point, though, for he laughs and the audience laughs along.

"Well, Peeta," Caesar says, once everyone's calmed down enough. "I bet your family's as humorous as you are."

"Not really," I tell him the truth. "Although... Now that I think about it, they kind of are. My brothers especially. You see, our father's the district baker. We used to throw these bread jokes at each other in the kitchen when we help him."

My voice hitches a bit at the end, as it dawns on me, for the thirtieth time or so, that I might never see my brothers again. Or my Pa. It doesn't get easier with each time, even if I want it to. I guess this is just yet another thing I need to accept.

"Any words for your family, Peeta?" Caesar asks, sounding - _genuinely _- sympathetic.

"Yes," I say. "I'm still here."

Silence. Looks like no one indeed gets what I've just said.

"Yes you are!" Caesar reiterates, chuckling a little to cover up for something. His own confusion, I think. "Now, one final question. I'm sure plenty of the ladies in the audiences have taken a liking towards you..."

Some cheering and yelling. Looks like it's indeed true.

"...so, I need to ask something. Do you have any special girl waiting back home?"

"No," I answer him. "Well, I do have a girl, but... no. She's not at home. At least now."

"And where is she?" Caesar drills on.

I take a deep breath. Mentioning Katniss's name is out of question here. I'll break Lore's spirit, and those of my new friends.

"Somewhere," I tell him. "Somewhere and everywhere."

My buzzer sounds. This is the end of it.

"Peeta Mellark, of District Twelve!" Caesar exclaims. "Let's give him one more applause, everyone!"

At the end, we are all herded back to the lifts. My ride, which I share with Lore and the kids from Seven, passes in silence. And so does the hours afterwards, as I wash the interview off and put on my lounge clothes, sit down to watch the interview recap with the others, and have dinner with the mentors, the stylists, and Effie. I don't talk to Katniss, and she doesn't talk to me. I don't think both of us are even here. She's somewhere, and I'm somewhere else. It's stifling. And somehow I can't end it.

It's a phone call, at the end, which does it for us.

"Car's waiting downstairs," Haymitch, who took the call, tells Maysilee and Katniss. "We've got to go soon."

He pats Lore on the shoulder at this, and claps me on the back. This is his goodbye.

Maysilee's goodbye comes next, in tight hugs and good luck whispers. She's told us everything she knows, over the meals. How to not get killed in the bloodbath, how to spot edible things, how to get away from a Career who is hunting you. I wish her soul will continue withstanding this all, that she can always be the backbone of Team Twelve. That one day she and Haymitch will find their daughter Madge, and live a life free from the Games with her and the twins.

Then, it's Katniss. She hugs Lore like she does a little sister; like she did Prim when they were kids. Then she moves on to me, and holds me tight against her. Then, she breaks. She kisses my cheek.

"May the odds be ever in your favour," she whispers.

"May the odds be ever in _our _favour," I correct her, glancing at Lore who eyes us with interest and suspicion. "Lore and I will do you proud."

It's only then that Katniss recovers and kisses Lore on the cheek as well, just to even it out. That might not be enough of a fix, but I can always explain to Lore that I was - no, I am - Katniss's sister Prim's best friend.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Haymitch says warily. "We're up for an early start tomorrow."

Katniss nods. And this is it.

I stare there at the closed lift door for a long, long time, after she disappears behind it with Haymitch and Maysilee. My Katniss. My broken, tortured, sad Katniss. My strong Katniss. My girl.

My eyes close, and my chest tightens, as this love I have for her gnaws my insides.

* * *

At some point that night, I fall asleep. I don't remember how, but I know I did, for I wake up the next morning.

My prep team prepares me, then it's off to the rooftop to catch the Hovercraft to the Arena. There's this tiny minute I get with Lore, as we bump into each other in the lounge room. I use it to tell her to get off the Cornucopia as soon as she can, for that's all I can do for her now.

The only person to be with me, in my last minutes out of the Arena, is Portia. Stylists are the only team members to accompany tributes into their launch rooms, I heard. She stays with me in the Hovercraft, as they first shoot a tracker into my arm then lower down the window covers as we approach the Arena. She walks me to my launch room as the Peacekeepers guard us closely, and help me into the green jacket once I've got my tawny pants and black shirt on. The mockingjay pin - which I've given her to take for inspection a few days ago - is pinned there inside my jacket. They've decided that it's not dangerous and let me take it into the Arena, as my District Token.

I'm bringing part of my Katniss into the Arena.

"_Tributes, to your launch tubes please._"

And this is it. I am going in.

"May the odds be ever in your favour, Peeta," Portia tells me. "In all honesty, I think you can win this."

"Thanks," I answer her. "I'll keep your trust in mind."

"_One minute._"

I step into the tube, one foot after another. It closes around me as soon as I'm fully in. The walls are made of glass, and it's still possible to look outside, so I decide to lock eyes with Portia. It helps me focus. And, after all the things Portia did for me, I think she deserves some last gesture of respect and gratitude from me.

"_Thirty seconds._"

I take a deep breath.

"_Ten seconds._"

Another deep breath.

"_Launch._"

My stomach falls into the pit inside it, as they shoot me upwards into the Arena.

**Next: Johanna - Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games.**

* * *

****Thanks for reading! See you around with Peeta's time in the Arena :).


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **Hello. Thanks for reading, everyone. And thanks for following, favouriting, subscribing, bookmarking, and giving kudos. Special thanks to my reviewers from ff: jc52185, axes tridents and snares, THGgoddess4ever, and Grandthrawn; and to those from AO3 MaidenAlice and CrazyAboutBooks. You're all awesome :).

Without further ado, here's the chapter - enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **just borrowing what belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

**Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Johanna**

Trees. Tall, strong trees. A lake near the golden horn of the Cornucopia. A river, muddy at parts, but nothing a sanitizing kit can't fix, really.

_I could've done so well in this Arena._

Leaning back on my chair, I huff that thought out. And what could have been, and what would have been. Let's just say I didn't exactly have the best of time in my own Games.

The sight of my left hand is just downright infuriating. A metal tube, replacing what should have been my little finger. Ugh. I tuck the damned hand under the crook of my right arm, just so that I can forget it for now. After this, I'm sure I'll have nights and nights and countless nights to re-enact that _sweet _amputation in my head.

_Buzz._

Here we go.

My screen now shows Michaela in her tube, ascending into the arena. Strong, quiet, slightly-brainless Michaela, with too many woes already in her sixteen years. The girl who won't live, since we've decided that both our tributes are goners this year. This wouldn't have happened, had there not been the whole Katniss singing scandal. But, well, that happened. And since I've promised everyone not to blame her, the best thing I could do is to help her.

District Seven is working together with Finnick Odair and District Twelve to get Peeta Mellark out of the Arena alive this year.

_Buzz_

That's the second buzzer which _kindly _tells us that all the twenty four kids are in the Arena now. All hail Captain Obvious. Seriously. Mentors who can't tell that all the kids are already out perhaps should go get some glasses. Except if they've turned blind or gotten their eyes dug out in their Games, obviously.

... oh, well. I guess I've just realized what that buzzer was for.

"I see _him_," Gale clues next to me. "Slightly bad positioning."

_Him_ is, of course, Peeta Mellark. He's not on my screen at the moment, but it looks like he's somewhere close to our boy tribute, whom Gale is pretending to watch. Gale's pretense is a little pathetic, I must say. His eyes are obviously darting between the screen and Katniss - who is sitting like a log at her station humming that song about hung murderers and rope necklaces. But I guess that doesn't really matter, for none of those other mentors will give a shit. It's all about 'our tribute', 'our tribute', and 'our tribute' now. Not about 'oh, look, Gale's checking Katniss out while his whale-sized wife's sitting next to him'.

What I just thought about? 'Whale-sized wife'?

My eyes start watering. Job well done, wayward pregnancy hormones. You've successfully transformed the carefree, confident Johanna Mason into this self-conscious, emotional mess.

"You right?" Gale jumps in, sounding like a knight ready to carry some damsel in distress through a storm - a gale. He's been like this since... well, since that day he found me in an embrace with the toilet bowl, I think. Talk about some male equivalent of pregnancy hormones.

"Go away," I rebuke him. "Go back to work."

He grabs my arm. I yank it off. He tries to grab it again. I move it out of his reach. We engage in this stupid game for a few more seconds, until Haymitch from Twelve shouts across the room at us.

"Hey Hawthornes! Keep yer wrestling to yer mattress, won't ya? We've got a bloodbath situation 'ere!"

Some snorts. Yes, people. Keep laughing at Pregnant Johanna, won't you? From the brothel, straight to the kennel. From a whore straight to a breeding mare. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

_Buzz._

Damn.

I lean back forward towards my screen, all but this forgotten. My tribute's running _towards _the Cornucopia; what the hell she is doing, I have no idea. That beating heart in my chest beats even faster as she gets to the mouth of the golden horn, opening a box which could as well contain active dynamites. Shit. This girl's really stupid.

My hands move to my mouth, clamping it before I can make any sound.

There's a loud slash and a yelp emanating from Gale's speakers, and I know that's the end of our boy tribute. Great. Someone's son has just died. Some thirteen or so years ago, his mother had been pregnant like me, keeping her son alive with all she had. And now, her boy's dead - most probably when she's watching on a big screen at the district square.

_Stupid, barbaric, inhumane Hunger Games._

There have been these whispers behind my back, that pregnant mentors are the worst kind of mentors, and now I understand why. Pregnancies just don't mix well with mentoring Hunger Games tributes. I wish I'd listened to that ancient man Shay when he told me to stay home and let Gale go with Blight.

"How's Michaela going?" Gale asks, as he discreetly sneaks an arm around my ever-expanding waist.

"Still going," I say. "That's... oh, she's got an axe there. And Mellark."

I'm not lying, despite my reputation. Peeta Mellark is now on my screen, grabbing my girl tribute from the Cornucopia. He's got something on his own, a real small thing. A _knife_. Of all the weapons he could have chosen, he chose a fucking knife. After risking his life running to the Cornucopia.

Perhaps Michaela is not the only stupid tribute I care about this year.

"Finnick's boy's fighting the other Careers," Gale quietly tells me, his eyes glued to the big screen on the wall. "No idea what happened here, but looks like they have a plan."

After the disaster of Annie's year, Finnick has always cautioned his tributes against joining that dumb, overrated Career Pack. Not everyone listened, them being kids, but some did. Looks like his boy this year is indeed smart.

The Cornucopia has disappeared from my screen, replaced by some trees and ground full of fallen leaves. Michaela - and Peeta Mellark - have escaped. Also in my screen now are girl Twelve and girl Eleven, who are both twelve years old. Looks like Mellark's got a little harem here.

"Where is he going?"

That's Katniss, yelling at no particular person. Great. Not only her lover is in the Games, she is also going a little insane.

"Go sit with your sister," I nudge Gale out of his seat. "She needs you."

He looks at me, before finally nodding and scooting away. Not without that sneaky kiss on my hairline, though. Damn sappy, expectant-father Gale.

The next few hours pass relatively peacefully, at least here at my station. Finnick's boy tribute died in the Cornucopia, but apart from him and our own boy tribute, no other kid we took notice of died. Districts Three, Five, Eight, and Ten are also one down now; Six and Nine no longer in the Games. Ten kids perished at the Cornucopia. Thirteen more for Peeta Mellark to outlive, in order to come back to Katniss.

Blight appears a little bit after midday. He's damned ecstatic that one of our tributes makes it past bloodbath this year, and literally butts me out of the station. Now that I'm officially jobless for the time being, I scoot over to station Twelve, which is pretty jam-packed with both Gale and Finnick lounging there.

"Johanna's here," I hear Maysilee coaxing Katniss, as soon as I stand there behind them. "You stay here with her, alright? I'm going to go buy some water kits for Peeta and Lore."

A nod. No sound.

Kat-niss is cat-a-to-nic.

... or perhaps not. She's just a little lost in her own world of watching screens and praying your boyfriend's going to make it through the day.

"Sit, Mommy," Haymitch snides, pushing me down onto Maysilee's empty chair. "Pregnant women don't stand."

"This one does," I respond warily. "Thanks for the chair though."

I spend the next couple of hours shuffling between the chair and the bathroom, and trying to make Katniss eat. Peeta and his little harem are safe, camped out up some trees deep in the woods, but it doesn't seem to make things easier for her. Finnick and Gale get her hooked up on a drip sometime in the late afternoon. A single look at these two confirms that they had both indeed used _drips _when mentoring in the past.

They all make me go to bed - march me to bed, to be exact - comes bedtime, so whatever happened in the night remains in the dark for me. When I come in to take my shift at station Seven the next morning, though, I noticed that there's already a kill under Peeta Mellark's name. Girl Eight. The commentary reveals it's a mercy killing, which means it says nothing about Mellark's killer instinct.

Mellark's alliance - which includes my girl tribute - is again being their happy, sweet-yet-somber group this second day. Yet Katniss is still on drip and freaking out, so much that we end up taking a shift propping her up as well. Finnick does the job whenever he can - whenever he's not having some assignment or busy with Annie and the kid. Gale makes sure we're never both away, that someone's always with her. And I, well, I just go along with the ride. Sitting with her, talking to her when she's in the mood of talking, generally just babysitting a zoned out sister.

Towards the evening, though, the mood changes. The Career Pack has now reached that part of the woods where Mellark and his girls are. In the pack are the stupid kids from One, Finnick's girl from Four, and the brute-and-sadist duo from Two.

"_Where do you think Loverboy and his fangirls would go?_" the brute, Cato, demands, right as they walk straight under where the alliance is hiding.

Some interesting theories fly around, from the river to some kind of cave to inside the Cornucopia. There's not even a single thought that the targets are indeed right above them, though, and they just leave at the end. I hug Katniss afterwards, for she looks like she needs it.

"Your baby's kicking already," she quietly comments, as I pull away. "How many more months?"

"Got about four or five left," I say. "Can't wait to normal-sized again."

She smiles, then turns back to her screen. Well, as always, Mellark takes the front seat in her brain.

* * *

The Careers' night hunt turn out pretty fruitless, for no one fall for their traps and plans. Especially not Peeta and Friends, their main targets, who sat on trees right above them when they were discussing. Talk absolute stupidity and pointless arrogance here.

I must admit, though, that Peeta Mellark's got a good strategy there. At times it's chilling. Like when he suggests that they make their own weapons. Or when he mentions that ripping out the red inner lining of the jackets might help them in hiding. It's as if he's been watching all the previous Games carefully and absorbed all the tactics of the previous Victors. Making your own weapon is definitely Gale. Ripping out clothes - or part of it - to hide better is definitely mine.

Then there's this awkward moment for me, when my own girl tribute mentions that I was lifted out of the Arena in nothing but my underwear and bra. _And one less finger than when I got in,_ I say to myself, though that's an entire story for another day.

That's all of the fourth day, really. The fifth day is started with a cannon for that club-footed boy from District Ten, and a chilling smile from the sadist from Two - Clove is her name, I think. I can help but wondering if I'd ever looked like that after each of those kills I made. They...

_Oh, for fuck's sake, stop it, Johanna._

I get up and walk over to station Four, where Annie is sitting with Finnick and _their kid_, to borrow my Godson for a little walk. Dylan is a big boy, to put it frankly. They might have overfed him or something, but I guess that helps if he's to be a Career in the future. This boy is entirely Finnick, from the hair, the face, to the _flirting_. Throughout the five days of the Games, he's been passed around between almost all the other mentors, male and female. Even Enobaria of District Two seemed enamored. I could briefly see the flash of her metal-capped fangs as she smiled at some noise Dylan made.

"You wanna be in up there in the Arena, Fishlet?" I ask him, as we wander through that dark corridor outside the Viewing Room. My own baby's moving around like mad. I might as well be one of those delusional Mothers-to-be, but I swear that I feel some jealousy going here. Could be that it's stressed out too. I'm not exactly having a good time here, watching kids killing each other on big screen.

Dylan just looks at me. I guess that's a 'no', for the most enthusiastic Career will have their hand up for volunteering in a second.

"Good on you," I tell him as I touch his nose lightly. "Not worth it. Let me tell you, not worth it."

And right then, we pass some Peacekeepers. _Uh-oh_. Time to get back to the Viewing Room, I guess.

We trek back to that automatic door, which opens for us straight away. What I get when I walk in, though, is not something I've prepared for. Something big is happening.

"Thanks, Johanna," Annie says, as she quickly walks over to take her son. "I think they'll need your help."

I hand her the baby wordlessly and take that empty spot at station Seven. It's pretty irresponsible for Gale to just leave like that, but I think I would've done the same. This is all about Katniss now. Her lover's finally had a run-in with part of the Career Pack.

"_Oh, Peeta_," Michaela whispers desperately on my screen. She's still hidden up a tree, together with the two younger girls. Somewhere close under, Peeta's confronting Finnick's girl. I have no idea where the rest of the pack is, but I have a feeling they're nearby.

The big screen now displays, full on, Peeta's confrontation with Finnick's girl. Or, more likely, his _non-confrontation _with Finnick's girl. He's wrapping some kind of tourniquet on the girl's bleeding leg. The wound's too big to have been caused by his knife. The girl must have headbutted that Cato guy from Two and gotten a slash as a reward.

"_What happened_?" the big speakers echo Peeta's voice.

"_I told him to lay off that boy from Three,_" she says - not in a whisper, not in a yell, just _says_. "_The boy's just a kid. I feel like a heartless bitch using him like that._"

The Career Pack has taken the boy from Three as hostage, for the sake of guarding the Cornucopia. It's a pretty heartless thing to do, especially because that Cato guy would just kill him off at the end. Looks like Finnick's girl's still much more humane than the other kids, after all.

Peeta sighs on the screen.

"_I'm with some others,_" he tells her. "_Would you like to join us?_"

She just looks at him in disbelief.

"_You trust me?"_ she asks.

He smiles, weary and sad, but _sincere_.

"_Can't see any reason not to,_" he tells her. "_Come on._"

Shit. What is that boy doing to himself?

Gale comes back to station Seven, once Peeta's hauled his new ally up to their hiding spot in the trees. I switch to watching Brainless for the rest of the day, restraining her - with my pregnant belly and all - whenever she starts her hysterical thrashing over something Peeta does.

* * *

Checking that Michaela is alright, sending off that odd sponsor items, and restraining Brainless is the tone of my next few days. It's gotten a bit worse, really, since our Benevolent Alliance Leader Peeta Mellark has decided to take his girls down the trees and into a nearby cave, after watching that forest fire panning out somewhere else in the Arena. Food's gone insanely expensive. The kids have started hunting. I find myself gripping on my chair at times, whenever Peeta or Michaela or one of the younger girls are out with their makeshift slingshots. I don't think any of them, alone, is a match for that guy Cato.

Oh, and by the way, Cato has killed his 'girlfriend'. No, not the sadist Clove. The other girl, the giggly vapid one from District One. Apparently he's decided she's a load, having made no kills at all since Bloodbath. It'll be only a matter of time until he starts putting down the rest of his pack. I bet the boy from One is the next to go.

Five tributes in Peeta's alliance, four in the Career Pack, two others roaming the Arena. Eleven tributes, a week into the Games. This is going really really slowly. I wonder what the Gamemakers would do next to spice things up.

The next death, however, happens just _like that_.

Three agonizing days after getting slashed on the leg, Finnick's girl tribute finally gives up to the infection and blood loss. Nothing that Peeta and the other girls in her new alliance do mattered so much more than to prolong her life a little bit. That last day, she vomited out everything they fed her, and started telling stories which might or might not be true.

"_It's gonna happen, Peeta,_" Michaela whispers, as they sit together away from Finnick's girl and the two little ones. "_You OK if I do it?_"

"_Why?_" he asks her.

Michaela draws a deep breath.

"_I watched my father dying this way,_" she says. "_At the end, it's all the same._"

There's a pause. Then a nod.

Then, a cannon and some emotional tears.

A second mercy killing in the Games so far.

Peeta puts the body in the open afterwards, so that the Hovercraft can pick her. As the thing descends, he turns around and kisses three fingers on his left hand, holding it out just like what he did on his chariot.

"It's our salute for the dead," Maysilee explains, as all of us non-Twelvers stare at the screen. "He's just farewelling her."

The mood of the second week quickly turn somber. Our alliance - now back to the smaller size of four - forage through the forest and find things they can eat. There's a second death, a day or two later, as the Career pack finds the boy from Eleven. It's quick and merciless, and if I'm not mistaken, I'm sure that Cato guy has just lost half of his sponsorships.

On the third day, both our alliance and the Career pack lose members. The boy from One catches Rue, the little girl from Eleven, as she forages for food. He proceeds with copying Finnick's winning strategy, trapping her in a net then spearing her. She lives longer than he did, though, at the end. The other little girl, Lore from Twelve, loses it and shoots a rock straight through his skull.

"_Lore! Rue!_"

_Too late, Mellark, _I say to myself, as I watch him and Michaela dashing through that small meadow to where the girls are.

"_Peeta!_" Lore yells for her district partner. "_Help me! She's bleeding._"

Both the older kids crouch around them. And look at each other, as they realize it's damn too late.

Rue looks up tearfully, at this. If I'm not mistaken, the most emotional scene of this Games has just begun.

"_End... this..._"

"_I can't_," Michaela says. "_I can't do this to you, Rue. Peeta?_"

He looks at her, then at Rue, then up at the sky.

"_No,_" he then says, his voice thick with emotions. "_No._"

Katniss and I hold on to each other for the next few minutes, as all the three of them try, in vain, to stem the blood and keep their ally alive. Finally, another cannon sounds. Our alliance is down to three.

"_We should do something for her,_" Lore says quietly, as Michaela runs a gentle hand to close Rue's open eyes.

"_Flowers,_" Peeta suggests. "_Let's lay her down in flowers._"

And that's the first proper-funeral some tributes ever give their ally, I think. With wildflowers of all colours arranged around the small body, and the three-finger-salute Michaela now copies so proficiently.

We score the three of them sponsorships that night.

* * *

The next day, though, is a confusing day altogether.

Firstly, for the first time in years, someone actually dares running from the Career pack. The boy from Three, whom Cato is now putting on a leash like a pet, manages to free himself and dash off. By some luck - or some directions from the Gamemakers, really - he's found by our little alliance, and straight away taken in. We're back up from three to four, in just less than a day.

Secondly, the kids from Two are now _making out_. Yes, the brute and the sadist, making out. I don't know what cross their minds, really, for they clearly didn't have the hots for each other before. But it happens.

And thirdly, Peeta Mellark is again doing something really weird.

There's this other girl I've also been secretly watching; the sly, quick one from Five. The one who's kind of copied my strategy of being unnoticed, to a lesser extent. She's been alone since the Games started, stealing things from the Careers, jumping around trying to be unseen. Today, she nearly bumps into both the alliance and the career pack. The Gamemakers have now burnt most of the Arena, forcing them all to this small circle around the Cornucopia.

"_I think I just saw Foxface,_" Lore reports to the alliance, as they all gather in their camp. "_She's out there crouching behind some rocks. I don't know what she wants._"

"_Should we take her in_?" asks Michaela.

"_No,_" Peeta answers firmly. "_She'll want to be alone. She's playing this her way._"

If I thought I understand Peeta Mellark before, I think I'm definitely wrong. This guy's a bit of an enigma, really. He's not just playing _the _Games.

... he is playing _his _Games.

As I watch him sneaking out and leaving out some sponsorship food for that girl from Five, my brain slowly finds him a new name. _Robin Hood_. That boy's playing _Robin Hood_ in the Arena.

He's not there to harm the other kids.

He's there to challenge The Capitol.

_For the sake of all the fucked things in the world, why hasn't someone done this before?_

**to be continued...**

* * *

Thanks for making it here everyone! See you with the new chapter when it's ready to see the world :).


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **Hello. Thanks for reading, following, favouriting, giving kudos, subscribing, and bookmarking. Special thanks to my reviewers: HorseCrazy141, jc52185, SilentMockingjay, axes tridents and snares, Juliet's Shadow from ff and MaidenAlice and CrazyAboutBooks from AO3. You all rock.

Fair warning - the last part of this chapter is a bit unsavoury. I've tried being as un-graphic as possible about what happened, but still have to give hints as to what it was. It was Snow and The Capitol, thus it was entirely possible.

Hope you like the chapter though :).

**Disclaimer: **all belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

**Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Johanna**

Peeta "Robin Hood" Mellark lives for one more day in the Arena. And so do his three allies.

This Games has definitely trailed on, though. The usually bloodthirsty Gamemakers are somewhat uninterested in gore this year. They're dead set on starvation and deceit, and forced encounters between unwilling tributes. I don't know what kind of thing they'll use to break up Peeta's Band of Underdogs, who've gone so far as to sharing secrets the way only brothers and sisters do.

"Whoever wins is going to be really screwed in the head," Finnick mentions to me, somewhat quietly, as we take our dinner break together. "It's no longer 'his story' or 'her story' now, it's 'their story'. I have no slightest idea how the Final's gonna pan out."

"Well said," I comment, as I stab on that rubber-like, thoroughly-cooked steak on my plate. "The only way I can see a _real _final happening is if those mental kids from Two stay alive until the end. They'll really have to forcibly put down four of the remaining five otherwise. I don't think they'll kill each other now."

"Girl Five," Finnick reminds me, a small smile on his face. "You know what she's gonna do, don't you?"

"I don't," I answer him honestly. "I don't know her."

It's foolish to assume two people will act the same, just because they use similar Games strategy.

And, truly, I don't know the girl from Five. I don't know how she ends up becoming who she is now, whether or not there are still people she can come home to. She just doesn't show who she is, not even the slightest bit.

* * *

This girl ends up being an enigma, right until the second her cannon sounds the day after that talk I had with Finnick.

It all starts with a bunch of berries. Collected by Peeta Mellark, on one of his foraging trips with his Band of Underdogs. He's basically just being his happy self, looking so peaceful and positive as he collects stuff he thinks will be nice for dinner. Including a handful of those nightlock berries.

Also known as, the ultimate poison.

"Peeta!" Katniss screams at her screen. "They're nightlocks! You're gonna die in a second!"

There are some hushed whispers, as her whole moral support team - Haymitch, Finnick, and Gale - hold her down on her seat in an attempt to anchor her to the earth. In her distress, she looks exactly like what Finnick had looked like when Annie walked absentmindedly right into the territory of the brute from Two in the Seventieth. I wonder if Gale had screamed and thrashed too, the day when I swung my hatchet on my own finger as it got trapped under a boulder in my Arena.

"He's not eating it," Annie, who sits next to me at station Seven, mentions. "Not yet."

"Lore knows her plants," Maysilee adds confidently. "She'll tell him it's poisonous when they meet up."

"If she's not killed beforehand," I remind her, just to keep everyone's hope rational.

Annie sighs, and Maysilee gives me a sad glance, but they both know I'm right thus they say nothing.

The berries now lay on a small piece of cloth on the ground, together with a couple of other things. It's shown, in a close zoom, on the big screen, together with a fair, trembling hand which reaches for it.

My screen shows Michaela walking around, so that's definitely not her. It can't be Mellark, too, for it's definitely a girl's hand. Sadist from two is somewhere else in the Arena, and Lore's coloring doesn't match the hand's.

It's girl Five's hand.

What happens after that is history, with a booming cannon and temporary panic among the Band of Underdogs. It's only when they're fully assembled that they calm down, hugging each other in fear and relief.

"_Who was that?_" the boy from Three asks.

"_Dunno,_" Michaela answers. "_I hope it's Clove or Cato._"

"_Not them,_" Lore points out, as the hovercraft lifts girl Five's body out. "_It's the redhead from Five._"

They all move hastily afterwards, upon this realization that it's them against the kids from Two now.

* * *

I'm sitting in my room, watching those interviews of the family members of the Final Eight - Final Six, actually -, when a flustered Gale barges in.

"Jo," he gasps out. "Final's starting. We need you in Viewing Room."

There's no explanation of how many kids are left, and who is actually in the Final. But judging the fact that Gale's still running and fighting, Mellark most probably is still alive. Him, or Michaela. Or both.

I run - shuffle, actually - back to the Viewing Room, as the other mentors start appearing in the corridors, all walking the same direction. Volts, from Three, walks to his room instead, though. Looks like boy Three has ended.

"You know who's in?" I ask Cecelia from Eight, who's walking next to me in an attempt to be kind. She's one of those female Victors who've actually been brave enough to get pregnant and have children on her own will.

"Your girl, boy Twelve, and both from Two," she tells me. "Your alliance has just lost the young girl from Twelve."

I thank her for her answer, as we reach the door of the Viewing Room.

The room is the most jam-packed it has been since the end of the Bloodbath, with nearly all mentors there. It's the first time in my five years of mentoring that I'm actually in here during the Final. None of my tributes or the tributes I cared about has ever made it before. My heart pounds as I realize that both Peeta and Michaela are still alive. We actually have a fifty-fifty odds here.

"What on earth are they doing there?" I ask Gale, as I join him and Finnick behind Katniss's seat at station Twelve. The screen now displays Peeta and Michaela inside their cave from a couple of days ago, him trying frantically to compress her stomach - which is missing a large chunk on the side.

"Hiding from mutts," Gale answers. He gestures at the big screen, where some creatures are now tearing off that sadistic girl from Two. Fuck. That's someone else's child. My hand flies to my stomach, as I try not to think about the girl's poor mother back home.

"_S'okay,_" Michaela's hoarse voice from Twelve's screen brings me back to the room. "_There's nothing you can do, Peeta._"

"_No,_" Peeta disagrees. "_If we stem this long enough, until both their cannons sound, you can be alive._"

This is it. The Gamemakers have eventually broken the peaceful, kind Robin Hood who tries to help others. He's now one of us, wishing death upon some enemies out of his immediate concern zone. At the end, it's all still the same.

... or not.

I think I've just heard him confessing that he's gonna kill _himself _after both those kids out there are gone. He's gonna martyr himself for his new friend, just _because_. Peeta Mellark is still _himself_.

"_Don't you be stupid,_" Michaela scolds him, chuckling. "_Come back to your girl, Peeta. I'm already coming back to my boy._"

"_You never told me about him,_" Peeta says, chuckling back through his wide, terrified eyes. "_What's he like?_"

"_Was,_" she corrects him. I notice something leaving her eyes - she's definitely going to go. "_He looked a bit like Lore. His entire family's like that._"

"_So he had Seam look,_" Peeta plays along. "_What else?_"

"_Tall. Kind. Squeaky voice, but he'd never been more than a kid. Could've been deep, like his brothers', had he got the chance to grow up._"

"_What kind of things did he do?_" Peeta asks again, glancing hopelessly at the bright red blood covering his hands.

"_Sharing me his lunch,_" Michaela whispers out. A serene yet delirious smile breaks on her now sheet-white face. "_Before and after his brother was Victor._"

_What?_

One of Gale's hands finds mine. I clasp it, as we both take in our girl tribute's last confession.

"_No,_" Peeta mutters to himself. "_It's Gale's dead brother, isn't it?_"

"_Yes,_" Michaela answers. Her breath hitches, before her eyes start rolling into the back of her head. "_Vick._"

Silence.

Then, cannon.

Gone is the girl who once loved Gale's murdered brother, Vick, without any of us knowing it.

"I'm sorry, guys," Finnick says, as he pats both our backs. "At least they're together now."

"Yeah," Gale responds, patting Finnick back. "For good."

I tune out all the conversations afterwards. My insides feel numb. Michaela, the girl who never spoke. I always made fun of her silence, but now I can't help but thinking that she wouldn't have been so quiet had I not gotten the boy she loved killed.

_Stop, stop it, Johanna. Snow killed Vick. You survived, so the bastard killed him. You know that. Now, focus._

"Johanna?"

Thank heavens for Annie Cresta and her incredibly worrying kindness.

"I'm fine," I say out loud, as I look over at my friend's mad girlfriend. "Just got a little lost in thoughts. What are we doing now?"

"Ssh," Maysilee says warningly. "Peeta's up to something."

The big screen now displays Peeta. Still knelt down on the ground next to Michaela's body, he's wiped off his hands on his own jacket and is now closing her eyes.

"_I guess I owe you my girl's name,_" he says - _chuckles out _- at the now dead girl. "_It's Katniss, Michaela. Katniss Everdeen._"

Silence.

Then, gasps.

All the eyes in the Viewing Room dart towards station Twelve, where Maysilee's smiles glumly, Haymitch shrugs, Katniss zones out, and the rest of us just look on.

"I KNOW IT!" Queen Cashmere yells in fury. "YOU WERE ALL GANGING UP TO LET HIM WIN, AREN'T YOU? FOUR? SEVEN? HOW IS THIS ALL FAIR?"

"Says the Career," Haymitch carelessly comments, as he puts an arm in front of my chest to keep me from lunging. "Ya' were ganging up with Two, One. How was that all fair?"

In the Arena, a Cannon booms. The girl from Two has just died her painful death.

"One more, Sweetheart," Haymitch then says, shifting her attention to Katniss. "He'll be alright."

I steal a glance at station Two, which is jam packed with all their mentors. Good thing no one's hearing that, for a bloodbath inside the Viewing Room is not unheard of.

"Where's the Cato guy?" I ask all these people around me.

"Fighting wolf mutts," Finnick answers me. "There he is."

I look up at the big screen, and straight away see some bloodied guy running away from a pack of wolves. Strange wolves with colourful fur and eyes, and some kind of collar on their necks.

Oh, hell.

They've made wolf versions of the dead tributes this year.

"What the..."

I snap back to Twelve's screen at that. And swear the loudest swear I've sworn since the day I found out I was pregnant, for Peeta Mellark is now out in the open.

"_CATO!_" he screams into the night air. "_CLOVE! WHERE ARE YOU?_"

"Oh, no," Annie says sadly. "He's lost his mind."

_Like you haven't lost yours, _I snap annoyedly in my head, as I squint at the dim screen in front of me. This. After all the effort we've made keeping him alive, that foolish boy is doing _this_.

The foolish Robin Hood continues infuriating me, as he proceeds with running through the Arena. Mutts attack him left, right, top, and down, at one point tearing off a chunk from his left leg. He just runs. And runs. Like something's possessed him. Until a cannon sounded; a cannon which is not his. Cato's lost the battle to the mutts.

"_Ladies and gentlemen,_" Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes, "_the Victor of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark of District Twelve!_"

Cheers.

Then a loud thud from the speakers, and silence.

Peeta Mellark has passed out in the middle of his own pool of blood.

* * *

That was, essentially, a dream turning a nightmare in a second.

Peeta Mellark, our newest Victor, is lifted out of the Arena with that claw they've used on dead tributes' bodies. He can't stand up and make it to the stairs all other Victors climbed to get into their hovercraft. I don't think he's even conscious.

From then on, it's all chaos in the Viewing Room. District One and District Two are all out within the second - dirty looks and whispers and all. Everyone else, though, flocks to station Twelve. It's impossible not to do it, I think, with Katniss's sorrowful, agonized wails, and Finnick's wasteful efforts in getting her to take a breath and get herself together.

"Take her to go see him," Gale tells Maysilee and Haymitch, as Katniss continues wailing and everyone else continues staring. "She won't feel better until she actually sees him."

He then squeezes my hand, which is still in his. That intense look in his eyes tells me that it's not something he intends to do, though. Maybe he's just, again, channeling that feeling he had that five years ago, when it's me they're lifting out.

Haymitch looks over his shoulder.

"For once, Old Kid," he tells Gale, "ya' actually have a good suggestion."

I don't really bother dissecting that much, as the focus has now shifted on getting Katniss to the Recovery Center. The Gamemakers haven't yet sent any cars to pick up the mentors from Twelve, but they're apparently using the same center from last year, and the District Five guys still remember where it is.

"It's really close to the Training Center," that mentor from Five, who usually doesn't make any sound, pipes up. "Just take a cab to the city circle, and I'll draw you a map to get you from there."

Finnick and Gale find the cab for them, and that's how they leave, essentially. Huddled in a civilian cab with a starstruck driver, with a scrawly map from a somewhat insane lady as a guide. I stare at the silhouette of that cab until Gale pulls me back into the Viewing Center.

"Go rest," he orders me, as he drags me back to our room. "I'll keep tabs on the situation."

"Why can't I keep tabs with you?" I challenge him, though the yawn forming at the back of my mouth tells me that I should perhaps rest.

"Because that's my kid you're carrying, Johanna, and you'd better not screw yourselves up."

_Stupid, irrational, overprotective expectant-father Gale._

I end up laying on my bed dozing on and off the whole night, as the other side remains cold. At one stage, I hear the door opening and some suitcases getting packed. It's not until a certain paranoid person tries carrying bridal-style out of the room, though, that I fully realize what's happening. We're all being returned to the Training Center for the crowning and closing ceremonies. The gory, exciting part is over. Time to celebrate the lucky bastard who's still alive at the end.

... well, I hope he is.

"Is our Victor even alive?" I ask Gale, as we wait in line for our car in front of the building.

"No announcement yet," he answers. "Most probably yes."

"Or they're not telling it yet," I reply, just to be the negative, cynical devil's advocate.

Neither of us comment further on that afterwards. We make a point of checking Floor Twelve, though, when we arrive at the Training Center. None of the three mentors are there yet. Which means, it's still all good news.

We end up spending our day at Floor Four with Finnick and Annie and their kid, just so that we don't end up snapping at each other in our distracted states.

The better half of the Abernathys - Maysilee, that is, in case it's unclear - makes her appearance at Floor Four towards the end of the day. Her white-streaked blonde hair is limp, and there are dark circles under her eyes, but she's smiling. I know that Peeta Mellark is definitely alive, before she even announces it loudly to the floor.

"How's the leg?" I ask her, as we take the lift up to our floors afterwards.

Maysilee steals a glance at my left hand.

"Gone," she finally says. "They're giving him a fake one."

"Is he gonna take it?" I ask, as I look at my metal finger. It's basically useless, and I can't even bend it. But to take the Capitol's offer of a fully-functional, almost-real one meant losing yourself to them, and there's no way I'll ever sink that low. Especially after they made me cut it myself.

"It's not as simple as your finger, Johanna," Maysilee explains to me, in her usual unassuming kindness. "It's either taking it or being confined to a wheelchair for him. I'm sure he'll take it."

_Or they'll force him to,_ I add silently, as our lift stops at Floor Seven.

"Goodnight," I tell her curtly.

"Goodnight, Johanna."

I never told anyone this, I think, but I do believe that Maysilee and I get each other. Our live stories are similar. Falling in love with a boy Victor who angered Snow, then got reaped. I think she lost her family over her victory, too. And she also wasn't supposed to live. The gentle sweetheart with a blowgun, and the snivelling coward who swung an axe. We weren't supposed to be deadly, but hell, we were.

Now that I've thought about it, Annie could as well join our club of Victors' Lovers Turn Victors. But, no. She had it easier than us. Snow's always liked Finnick more than he ever likes Gale, let alone Haymitch. No one was killed when Annie won. Not that she had many loved ones to start with, but at least no one died because of her.

Perhaps it's kind of too early to tell, but I have a feeling that Maysilee and I are welcoming a new member to our club this year. With his girlfriend's singing scandal and his own Robin Hood stunt, Peeta Mellark isn't well on his way of being Snow's favourite Victor.

I wonder if his family is even still alive now.

I'm still thinking about it as Gale joins me in bed a couple of hours later. Then I fall asleep, only to wake up and think about this again the next morning.

"Any Mellark news from last night?" I ask Gale, as we sit down for a private breakfast at our floor.

"Nope," Gale answers. "Catnip couldn't speak, so she asked Haymitch to call. He said the boy's alive, then hung up."

"His leg's getting cut off," I say, over my heaping plate of various breakfast goods. "Maysilee told me last night."

"Well... not really surprising I suppose," Gale responds, a slight grimace on his face. "I don't get why he ran straight to the mutts."

"Ask him," I comment. "I can't answer either."

* * *

It's me, though, who end up talking to our newest Victor, three days later after he's woken up.

All the visitation restrictions have finally been lifted, and we're there to visit him and Katniss. The visit quickly turns into this double-friend-dates, though, as Gale plays big brother and takes Katniss for lunch because she hasn't eaten anything. That leaves me with the now one-legged, blonde, blue eyed Robin Hood of the 74th Arena, who's looking at me from his hospital bed.

"Hello," I greet him, as I plop down on the chair next to him. Judging how things look so far, he doesn't seem manic, and I don't think I'm in danger. "Welcome to the club, Loverboy."

He just looks at me and offers a small, polite smile. A very appropriate reaction indeed, for a _sane _person who just won.

"How's the non-leg situation?" I try joking with him.

He chuckles gently.

"Alright, I guess," he says. "I can still feel it at times, but the doctors say it'll go away eventually."

Well, I know that feeling. The first few weeks after my victory, I was still adamant that I could still do my left-handed pinky promise.

"I can assure you they said no shit," I tell him as I stick out my metal finger for him to see. "You'll get something better than this old pipe, I think, but you'll have a metal leg from now on."

"Yeah," he tells me, still with that small smile. "Had a fitting already yesterday."

I take some time to observe him better. He's definitely cleaned up and polished, and clearly doesn't look malnourished. Things are pretty much good, for the time being.

"How are things with you and the others?" he then asks me.

I look at him.

"We're all good," I answer. "Finnick's got a kid, I'm having one, but otherwise it's all the same old."

"I'm sorry about Michaela," he says sadly. "I... I really tried."

"Nonsense," I tell him. "No need to say sorry, Blondie. You didn't kill her."

And then, just then, it dawns on me that this boy has no kill. There's that one mercy killing and the berry incident, but he has no kill.

Perhaps that's why he still sits here with a smile now. I don't think he has really joined _the _club.

"What are you gonna do now?" I change the topic, as an uneasy shift happens in the air.

"Don't know," he answers. "Maybe go back home, help my father with the bakery... unless, if I have to _stay _here?"

The missing leg and that Robin Hood stunt, I don't think he'll be the most popular Victor in the circuits. There's that one thing, though, which is certain to happen. And maybe I should warn him about this.

"You'll have to stay until a couple of days after your Victor's Interview," I inform him. "After that, I think you can be the happy baker again."

"Did you... stay for a couple of days?" he asks, with a cautious voice and somewhat-stormy eyes.

"Been there, done that," I confirm. "It's not that bad, really. Just think about home, and you'll be there."

Okay, so I'm lying. It is _bad_. I'm not entirely sure if he'll face the same thing I faced, but whatever he'll face, it will be bad.

Snow had some brutal Peacekeepers done _that unspeakable thing_ to me, to make Gale pay back for bringing me home alive. I think he did the same to Maysilee, as a revenge to Haymitch. And for all I know, he might do something to this boy too, as a revenge to Katniss.

Peeta looks at me pensively. I pat him playfully on the head, for he does look like a pet or a baby brother for a second.

...brother. Does he still have a family?

"Have your folks moved in to your new place?" I ask him, carefully.

"I haven't heard about them," he answers, honest and plain. "It'll only be my Pa, since my brothers are married, but I haven't heard about him too."

I look down for a second. I don't know why, but I just don't have the heart to tell this boy what might have happened. And, alas, there might be bugging cameras and bugging microphones here.

"You wanna play something?" I finally ask him, eyeing the stack of cards on his bedside table. "I can teach you a game or two, or we can just build houses."

And that's how we kill time until Gale and Katniss come back, really. Building houses of cards.

* * *

The Crowning Ceremony was held a couple of days later, and went without a hitch.

The Final Interview afterwards went smoothly, too, with quite a few moments when the boy's lost in thoughts as the recap displayed his dead ally. They asked him about Katniss at the end, and he told them some sweet stories of their love. I think they shared a kiss at the end of the interview, at the audience's request.

What didn't quite go smooth was, that _final _thing happening.

Gale and I were still asleep, when a frantic Katniss barged in to our floor and dragged us up to the rooftop.

"_I'm going for Show Duty!_" she said - screeched - at us, as we arrived at the rooftop. "_With Peeta! What do I do now?_"

"_When?_" Gale asked her, eyeing me with pleading eyes.

"_Tomorrow,_" Katniss answered. "_Tomorrow night._"

We all sighed.

"_Guess you've gotta prepare for it," _I told her, eventually. "_Let's do it._"

It was terrible, to be honest. I didn't know why I offered to do that, or who on earth invented this Show Duty thing, but it was just sick. Sending them off in their car to the theatre was somewhat of a relief and somewhat of a new torture. I was glad it would be over for them, yet I felt shit for that was going to happen to them.

Gale and I spent our evening sitting at our floor and packing, as we all would be going home the next day. Everything was pretty much normal, if not a little bit glum, until a few seconds ago when Finnick barged into our floor.

"_We're needed at Floor Twelve,_" he said, looking flustered. "_There have been some... accidents'_"

And that's how we find ourselves in the lift now, heading to Floor Twelve. To whatever _accidents_ there have been.

"Are they both alive?" Gale asks, all secrecy forgotten in the middle of the rush.

Finnick nods. He then looks away, though. Things are definitely fishy here.

The lift stops with a 'ding' at Floor Twelve. Gale pushes right through us out of the door, clearly wasting no time to get to whatever there is. Perhaps he's just panicked, perhaps he's not thinking things through, but I think he's forgotten what Snow is like. The worst has clearly happened, when we weren't there.

"CATNIP!"

Hell. Now, that sounds really serious.

I barge into the lounge room, pushing past the line of bowing, terrified avoxes who's clearly been summoned to help with the situation. And see all four of them - all the District Twelve Victors - on the floor.

Katniss, who is sobbing and vomiting violently onto the carpet.

Haymitch, who is holding her from behind, just so that she doesn't fall into her own vomit.

Maysilee, who is sitting on the floor, cradling and gently talking to someone.

And Peeta, whom she is cradling, semi-conscious and bleeding. From _there._

"Show duty my arse," I mutter, although it's unnecessary. Clenching my fists, I step forward and kneel next to our newest Victor, the poor boy whose only crime is to survive.

They definitely didn't have a show duty. Snow has done, on Peeta, what he did to me. What he'd apparently done to Maysilee too, those twenty two years ago.

I am so gonna give _it_ back to that bastard son of evil when we finally get to kill him.

**Next: Katniss, District 12.**

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone!


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: **Hello again. Thanks for reading, following, favouriting, subscribing, bookmarking, and giving kudos. Special thanks to jc52185, MiaBelles, axes tridents and snares, my Guest reviewer, and 123 from ff, and to MaidenAlice and CrazyAboutBooks from AO3 for their reviews. You guys all rock :).

Just to clarify what happened to Peeta at the hands of Snow. There was no mutilation (no, I can't do that), and he would be alright again at the end. Physically. What happened to him was what had happened to Johanna after she won her Games (the thing she briefly mentioned earlier in the last chapter), and was more of a revenge to Katniss than to him (Katniss was made to watch).

**Disclaimer: **Borrowing Suzanne Collins' things.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

**Capitol, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

I don't know how long I checked out for.

When things finally start making sense again, the sky outside the window is the color of dawn. The room is clear and devoid of any vile smell; the avoxes must have cleaned my vomit and Peeta's blood. The carpet even looks new - as if nothing had happened yesterday.

Finnick, whom I last remember cradling me and telling me stories, is sprawled on one of the other couches in the lounge. I can't help but feeling a little humoured that he snores in his sleep. I wonder if his clients know about this.

From here, I can see two figures slumped over the dining table. Two _Seam _figures, to be exact. Haymitch and Gale have passed out right then and there, in front of some liquor bottles. I wonder if what happened to me had, too, happened to them.

If what happened to Peeta, had, too, happened to Maysilee and Johanna.

Peeta's bedroom door is just right there, behind where I'm sitting. Yet it seems more and more far away with each second, with each thought entering my brain. What is in his mind now? Has he finally regretted being with me?

I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling, for I don't think I can handle this.

"Brainless."

I tilt my head back a little, just to sort of see Johanna who's standing there right in front of Peeta's bedroom.

"Come in here. Now."

I shifted back to my original ceiling-staring position, since I don't want to do what she wants me to.

"Katniss Everdeen. Come in here, now. No bullshit. Stop being a fucking escapist."

I just sit there. _Fucking _Johanna can say whatever she _fucking _wants. I'm not moving.

"Stop being a jerk, Brainless. He asked for you."

Now, that's something I can't just ignore.

Closing my eyes, I kick my feet onto the plush carpet. Johanna's eyes burn on me as I stride over, so I look aside just so that my eyes don't meet them. I'm in no mood to have one some serious verbal-lashings right now. Or _anything_, really.

"You're an egotistical bitch, Everdeen," Johanna scolds, as I finally reach her. "But I'm one heck of one too, and thus I'll let you get away this time."

She pulls me into a quick hug and holds my hand as we walk through the threshold. From that chair next to the bed, Maysilee looks up at us. There's something in her normally gentle, peaceful blue eyes. A storm.

"Here," she gets up, offering me her chair. "I'll go rouse the boys."

I close my eyes and stand still. Every single part of my being screams; I can't sit on that chair.

"Oh, hell Brainless," Johanna says, as she drags me over to the chair. "Just _fucking _do it, won't you? I know it takes a lot more to kill you."

And with that, they leave us alone. Him and me. Peeta and Katniss. In his bedroom, just like the old days. Except that we're in Capitol now, and he's a Victor.

"Hey," he says, gentle and excited like his old self.

"Hey," I croak back out, as I take in the sight of him. The nature of that thing they did to him means that his face is largely spared, apart from those finger-shaped bruises on the sides they gave him when they held him down. They did hit him on the back of his head, though. Several times throughout the thing, as he writhed and yelped.

"How've you been?"

He breaks me at that. Really.

"Fine," I tell him, as I blink out some of my tears. "You?"

"A little sore, but alive," he says, chuckling a bit. There's something else in his voice, though. That little sharp rise, which I often catch in Johanna's jibes and in Maysilee's stories.

With a shiver, I realize that it, too, had happened to them. And that The Capitol is on its way to change my kind, steady boy.

"I'm sorry," I finally find my voice again. "Peeta, I'm sorry."

He runs a gentle hand on my cheek, and breaks me even more.

"Ssh," he chides me softly, as I turn my head aside and sob. "Don't cry. It's not your fault. Things are just going... a bit weird."

_Snow. That bastard son of devil Snow. I swear I'm gonna kill him one day. Perhaps I'll take Johanna and the boys to gang up on him, just to even it out._

I suck in a deep breath and wipe the few tears on the back of my hand. Peeta shouldn't see me cry. I'm supposed to be strong. If I'm the one who gets him into this, I should be strong enough to get him out of this.

"What time is our train?" Peeta asks me.

"A bit before midday," I tell him. "I'll help you pack."

"Are we getting there in the car?"

"I think so."

There's some kind of desperate chuckle in the air.

"I can't sit currently."

I swallow the lump in my throat and hold back my brimming tears.

"You can lay on the back seat," I tell him. "I'll sit at the front."

"Sounds good."

There are several seconds of silence, as I try hard to rearrange all these emotions in my chest.

"Katniss," he finally says, pensive but determined. "Do you guys normally see your tributes before their coffins are sealed?"

"Yes," I answer him. "They'll already sealed in those who aren't deemed presentable, though. You might not be able to see Cato and Clove this year."

He nods.

"Did the mutts find Michaela after..."

"No," I reassure him. "The mutts left the dead bodies alone. Her, and that boy from Three, and Lore, they're all intact."

The boy from Three fell of a tree in his escape from the mutts and broke his neck. Lore fell into the river she couldn't swim and drowned. They should be alright after some minor makeup. And Michaela, poor Michaela who died from blood loss, should also be fine.

"Do you think you can take me to see them?"

"Peeta, you won't..."

I don't finish that, for it dawns on me that he didn't really kill anyone. Except that girl from Five, whose death wasn't intentional and wasn't brutal. He'll be able to handle most of the sight.

"Okay," I tell him. "I'll ask the others to come with us."

* * *

The Tributes' Morgue is located somewhere near the train station. Johanna and I agreed that they've put it there for logistic reasons, mainly. The twenty three bodies will be carried back to the districts in the trains which carry their mentors back.

There are exactly twenty three chambers in there, each house a body. They are assigned in death order; the first tribute to die in Chamber One, the second to die in Chamber Two, and so on. The smallest-numbered chambers are put at the very end of the Morgue, away from the front door. Sometimes, even the best of Capitol's preservation methods won't be able to stop the decay.

"Is there time to visit everyone?" Peeta asks us.

"Barely," Gale, who is timekeeper as always, says. "One minute per bo... per tribute. That's it."

Peeta nods.

"I can do it," he tells us. "You guys don't need to follow me around, though. Just sit with your tributes."

"No, thank you," Johanna rebukes. "I'm just going to say a couple of things to mine, then wait outside. I'm not like you guys. I don't have a taste for corpses."

I glare at her. Even though what she's saying is valid - and true for most of us -, she's really being mean here.

"I'm with Joey," Finnick announces. "Sorry, Peet, but the smell is..."

He makes a face at this. Peeta chuckles at him, and I have to try hard not to chuckle along.

Gale says nothing, but I know he's just going to do the same. If it was me, I would just see Lore then go away. The reminder is just too painful. Some of these kids actually knew - and perhaps loved - those who had to die so that I could go back home.

Peeta starts making his way towards the end of the chamber. I follow him closely behind, for I can't leave him. I brought him here. I should stay with him.

"You don't need to follow me," he tells me gently, as we reached the fourth chamber which holds Lore. "Feel free to stay with her."

"No," I tell him firmly. "I'm going with you."

One by one, he visits all the tributes. Those ten carnages of bloodbath, most in close caskets. That girl from Eight, whom he'd let out of misery. The crippled boy from Ten. Finnick's girl tribute, who was briefly his ally. That boy from Eleven, Thresh. Marvel, who'd killed his ally. Rue, whom he'd farewelled with a beautiful funeral. The girl from Five who died in his place, having eaten the berries he collected. Boy Three, whom he'd kindly taken in. Lore, the young girl who died too soon. Michaela, tragic, lonely, sad, brave Michaela, who'd loved a boy who died because Snow wanted him to. Clove and Cato, who'd shed their souls and humanity in vain, for at the end the Gamemakers still won.

Finally, he takes that one last sweeping look at the chambers, before giving them that last three-finger salute.

"I'll always remember all of you," he promises them. The words ring through the empty corridor of the morgue, unanswered yet strong. For a moment, I thought my kind, gentle boy is on fire.

Then, he turns around and looks at me, and all I see is _him_.

"Let's go," he says, an affectionate hand on my cheek. "We shouldn't let the others waiting."

* * *

My partings with my Brothers and Sisters in Victory is somewhat sweeter, yet somewhat more bitter this time.

We all part in good notes. Peeta's victory is as much theirs as much as it's mine. Even though my mind wasn't fully in the Viewing Room during the Games, I know they've all been there for me. I know they've all rallied for sponsorships for Peeta, and joined me in fearing for his life when those moments arose. I know they've tried their best bringing me back my boy.

There's this air of sadness, though, for we won't see each other again until the Victory Tour. And, something else.

"Be strong," Johanna whispers to me, as she pulls me into that last hug. "You'll pull through, Brainless. You haven't been through these all for nothing."

"You have my house number," Finnick, who stands nearby, says. "Even when I'm not in, you can always talk to Annie. Or Mags. It's never empty."

Gale steps forward to hug me when his girl - his _wife_, now - released me.

"This won't be forever," he whispers to me. "One day, Catnip. One day. Just remember this."

_One day. One day._

That's the thing I hum in my head, as the train carries me back to District Twelve. Back to home, back to our loved ones. Prim would be there in the station when we arrive tomorrow. I've given her the call, just before we left.

"To Victors' life," Haymitch lifts his glass - sarcastically - to us, come dinner time that night.

"To Victors' life," Peeta answers him, unwavering and unrelenting.

_Our_ mentor is happy with no answer from either Maysilee or I, though, so we say nothing.

Effie's giddy and ballistic and giggly from the euphoria of bringing home a _second _Victor in her ten or so years escorting; she ends up being this unladylike, screeching drunk at the end of the night. We all put her to bed, as we retreat to our compartments. Haymitch and Maysilee are sharing like usual. And I'm climbing into Peeta's bed tonight. I just _have to_.

He's still hurting pretty bad, thus nothing happens, but we hold each other to sleep that night as the train rocks us in its cradling motion. When we wake up the next morning, one of his arms is still under me, while both of mine have gone off his body and onto the mattress. Even after all of these, he's still the one with more love. I don't know how on earth I've deserved him.

"We're gonna have hot chocolate every day now," he says happily, as we have our breakfast in the lounge. "And Pa can now pay some apprentices. He doesn't have to wake up that early and go to bed that late anymore."

His father. I haven't been thinking of the kind man who'd given my sister a job when no one else would, and visited my mother even when she didn't really talk.

"Is your father moving in with you?" I ask him.

"He isn't," he chuckles out. "That's one of the things he said to me, that day in the Justice Building. I'd joked about a Victor's Village house. He said there was no way he's gonna live there, because it's too far away from the bakery."

"He really loves his work," I comment.

"He is," Peeta says, smiling pensively. "I don't think I'll ever be as good a baker."

We roll into District Twelve a couple of hours later, just before lunchtime. The station is jam-packed with miners and merchants alike; all celebrating Peeta's victory. Everyone claps when he climbs down. Even all the nine remaining members of Lore's family, though their claps are somewhat somber and their smiles wistful.

"I'm really sorry," Peeta says, his voice breaking a bit, as he approaches them on the platform. "She loved you all, though. She'd always said that."

"S'okay," Lore's father - a hardened, aged miner with a large family to sustain - told him. "Thank you for being her friend."

I stand there and watch, as Peeta hugs all nine of them, one by one. He then promises Lore's youngest sisters some cookies, and both girls beamed at him for this. My boy's definitely still there. He might be a little changed, a little hardened, but he's still him.

We've brought him home as _himself_, as I've promised him.

"Oh, finally!" Prim sighs dramatically, as she manages to get to us. "Welcome back home, guys! It's jam-packed here, so everyone will join us later, but welcome home!"

She hugs us, then herds us away from the station and back home. It's only then it fully dawns on me that 'home' will always mean "Victor's Village" for both of us from now on. That my days of kicking off a trashcan and hanging onto a flakey windowsill is now over. Panem now knows we are together. I can walk through Peeta's front door, and The Capitol will be absolutely happy about it. I'm sure they'll jump into making one of those 'Reality Shows' about our live in District Twelve, had this district been prettier and less dusty.

"Your house's between ours and the Abernathys'," Prim explains, as we walk through the entrance of the village. "We've helped your father moving things from your old room to your new one, including those sketches of Katniss."

Peeta blushes a bit, and laughs awkwardly at this. Looks like he's been doing _that _kind of sketches. Oh, boys. Even mine's the same.

That first day is filled with rest and catching up with the family. Peeta's father and brothers are waiting for us in his house, they all hugged Peeta and clapped his back. We head to my house afterwards, where my mother and Prim have prepared a feast to celebrate Peeta.

"What happened?" Peeta's oldest brother asks with a frown, when Peeta grimaces as he sits down.

"Injured my tailbone in the Games," Peeta says - smoothly. "Such a silly thing."

Prim and the Mellark boys laugh, while my mother and Mr. Mellark sigh. I don't really know what everyone's thinking about, but I don't think they've guessed what really happened. And I'm glad. No one - none of these people, especially - need to know what happened yesterday in Capitol.

And we need to forget. Peeta and I, both of us need to forget. I know that's entirely possible. Johanna and Gale. Maysilee and Haymitch. They all pull through. Peeta and I can definitely pull through. It might not be easy, but we will. And everything will be alright again, one day.

The next day is Lore's funeral. We farewell her with three-finger salutes, and Peeta brings her the same cookies he's brought her sisters. He's also started painting a beautiful portrait of her, which he's going to give her family after he finished it. With eight children to feed, they'd had no money or chance to get any photograph done of their daughter before things happened.

Things go as normal for ten more days. Then, on the twelfth day, my mother leaves home early in the morning to tend to Peeta's sister-in-law.

"Some rancid food or bad water," she tells me, when I ask her what it could be. "The baby has started getting it too; I'd better go see them before it's too late."

Prim has school and can't go, and she's strictly forbid Peeta and I to go because it might be contagious and we're not trained to handle such things. Thus we play some of our familiar games in my lounge room as we wait, until the sun is fully up and the district is alive.

"You wanna go to the woods?" he asks me, as he catches me staring wistfully.

"I'm staying with you," I answer him. I don't really want to leave his side, for some reason I can't explain.

"I'm gonna go," he says. "Come with me."

We head out and make our way out to the Seam, ignoring stares and glares and waving back to those who waves. People love Peeta. What they're scared of, what they despised, is me. Katniss Everdeen, the girl with the bow. Katniss Everdeen, who murdered three other children. Katniss Everdeen, who'd refused to ally with her district partner until they were both cornered, just because she wanted to win on his expense.

_Colton,_ I say in my head, _Colton. I'm sorry._

"You ok?"

I turn to Peeta, whose hand is in mine.

"Yeah," I tell him. "Just... just some memories."

"You're fine," he reassures me. "We are fine. And we will be."

The rest of the walk passes in relative silence, as we just hold hands and take each other's presence in this place we've loved as children. This is the first time we've been out in public holding hands, that we've been free to tell the world about us. It's really good I feel warm and fuzzy all over.

That is, until we get to the fencing and realize it's now been _turned on_.

"We've never had the electricity," I hushedly tell Peeta, as we turn around and walk our hurried way home. "What is this?"

"Maybe they're giving us some, now that I've won," he jokes, winking.

I laugh, though I can't shake this feeling that things are going to go wrong.

The rest of the morning is spent at home, with games, baking, some cuddling, and calls to Districts Four and Seven. Finnick and Annie's son Dylan is now crawling. And Johanna swears she's gotten two inches bigger since we last saw her twelve days ago, complaining about discomfort and going to bathroom ten times a day and so on. Things are going back to normal at their places, and all looks good.

"_Is everybody alive_?" Johanna bluntly asks, towards the end of the call.

"Yeah...?" I answer her.

And it's only then it dawns on me, what this jumpiness is all about. The only two other times a Victor brought their lover homes, families had been killed and other bad things had happened.

Something in me is still _waiting_.

"_You're strong,_" my Victor Sister reminds me on the other end of the line. "_You'll pull through. You haven't been through everything for nothing._"

That's the end of the call. And the end of my peace.

I spend lunchtime and the afternoon clinging onto Peeta, and later Prim when she comes home. They ask me what's wrong; I keep myself silent. I don't really want to tell them _this_. There's no need to make them sad.

When the night comes and mother's not home, though, we all start worrying. She's not at Maysilee and Haymitch's; they haven't even seen her the whole day. Haymitch takes over the search duty, and sends us all to bed in my house with Maysilee and their boys. For once, he looks so _serious_. Something is definitely happening.

"What's going on?" Prim asks me, as we climb the stairs up to our rooms.

"Something," I answer her, for the first time being honest about my situation. "I messed up with something. That's why Peeta was reaped. That's why things can be happening."

She hugs me. I don't know what it really means, whether it's fear or consolation, but I hug her back.

"I love you, Big Duck," she says, before she slips behind her door.

"I love you too, Little Duck," I answer her, choking at 'love' for it makes me scared.

I lay in my bed half-awake that night, with Peeta snuggled close to me. Then, as the dawn breaks, someone knocks on the door downstairs and Maysilee answers it. There's some kind of exchange downstairs, between her and the door knocker - _Haymitch._ And then there's some footsteps on the stairs, and a knock on this bedroom door.

"Sweetheart?"

I untangle myself from Peeta and get up to answer the door.

"Haymitch?"

He doesn't answer. I open my door and slip out; for I don't really want him to see Peeta in my room.

"What's happening?" I ask him.

He inhales.

"Your mother's dead."

My mother. Is. Dead.

The words ring in my ear, as Haymitch grabs me by my waist and steadies me against the wall. My mother is dead. Snow killed her because of me.

"Ssh," my mentor says in my ear. "Ssh. Sweetheart. Ya'll be fine. Ya have me and Maysilee. Ya have yer sister. The Hawthornes. Odair."

"And Peeta," I say, more for myself than for Haymitch. "I have Peeta too."

Haymitch inhales one more time.

"He's in there, isn't he?" he asks, glancing at my door.

I nod, for I'm too numb to lie.

"I need to talk to him too," Haymitch says. "That thing his brother's wife got, it's poison. That's how they got killed. Her, the baby, her husband, and yer Ma. Poison in the well."

I swallow my bile and look at my mentor.

"And the other Mellarks?"

He again inhales.

"Sweetheart," he says, gently ushering me to the nearest open room. "Tell me what's that outside yer window."

I look out. And see some smoke.

From the Mellark bakery's direction.

"The other brother got robbed and killed last night," Haymitch tells me, clear yet somber. "His wife and kid were murdered too."

Those. All of those, and the bakery in flames.

Peeta is as much the only Mellark left as Maysilee is the only Donner. As much the only Mellark left, as Johanna is the only Mason.

**to be continued...**

* * *

Thanks for reading! I'll be travelling for the next couple of weeks, but will try to sneak in some updates in my free time.

Oh, and... please review. Especially if you find something inconsistent/wrong/plotholey here. I'm no professional, still practising :).**  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: **Thanks for reading, following, favouriting, subscribing, bookmarking, and giving kudos. Special thanks to my reviewers: axes tridents and snares, MiaBelles, jc52185, Guest, Tori, 123, TexasAngel8608, and Horsecrazy141 from ff, and CrazyAboutBooks from AO3. The most number of reviews I have for a chapter of this story so far. You all rock :).

This chapter is Gale in District Seven. I figured out poor Katniss and poor Peeta needed a break from all those disaster I threw at them, and that Gale and Johanna's story needed going. So here it is. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins. Just borrowing.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**District Seven, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Gale**

_RING._

_RING._

_RING._

My conscience snaps back into my head, violent and jerking. Someone's ringing us in the dark of the night. This is a first. And this can't really be good.

I throw the covers off me and scoot downstairs to get the call. We have no phone in the upstairs floor; only that one thing downstairs. Johanna and the boys need their sleeps. I'll have to get there before it wakes them up. If there's bad news coming, I'd better be the one receiving it. I'm supposed to be their protector.

That wayward nail on the staircases, which we've fixed before, somehow acts up again. It trips me through the last few staircases. I end up landing on shaky legs and some typical District Seven cusses, just in time to get the thing before it rings out.

"Gale Hawthorne speaking."

"_Morning, Ol' Kid_."

_Haymitch_.

A glance on the clock confirms that it's two thirty AM here. Something has definitely happened.

"Maysilee?" I ask him, slow and cautious. "The kids? Katniss? Or... the new boy?"

"_Sweetheart's Poor Ma, and boy's entire family_," he answers me. "_All gone in a night. Poor lovebirds are batshit now_."

_All gone in a night._

That Bastard Snow has really killed Katniss's mother and Peeta's family.

I don't normally hurt for people. Not ever since the end of Johanna's Games, after which I lost nearly everyone who mattered. I do understand them, though. Of course they'd be batshit. I remember standing in the backyard smashing bottles and screaming when the districtfolks found my mother, Vick, and Posy dead. And passing out right there afterwards, only to have another round of bottle-smashing tantrum when I woke up and realized Johanna's family was also dead. The way your brain works when you grieve is different and pretty amazing.

"I know you won't, but don't let them hurt themselves," I tell Haymitch, once the memory passes.

"_Don't ya' worry, Ol' Kid_," he replies. "_They ain't ya or yer woman. Boy's now baking up a storm, and Sweetheart's zoned out as. Me and Maysilee and the kids are camped up here now_."

"Tell them Johanna and I are sorry," I said, clenching my fists. There was nothing I wanted more than to run out of here to be there with them, but I can't afford to mess up with the kid on the way. Knowing Snow, he'll arrange an accident for Johanna and the kid in the hope that I'll drown myself in a bottle or in Morphling. That fucking bastard has never liked me; not even the slightest bit. Which is fine, because, frankly, I don't like him even the slightest bit.

"_Call in a couple of days_," Haymitch orders carelessly. "_They'll both be talking again by then. At least, Boy will_."

I sigh. I know Katniss well. She'll definitely take a couple of days - or weeks - to recover from this.

"Alright," I assure Haymitch. "You all... be alright."

He laughs humorlessly.

"_Ya know no one has been alright for years, Ol' Kid,_" he responds. "_But well, yeah, we can try to be half-alright. Or quarter-alright. Or a tenth-alright. Won't lose our nuts_."

There's a pause, before he continues, "_Ya' too, don't lose yer_."

"I - we - won't," I speak for myself and Johanna. "Bye Haymitch."

CLICK. Not even a goodbye. But that's Haymitch, really.

I think I climb back upstairs in a thought-induced daze, for I wake up again a few hours later in the wrong bed. The one in the spare bedroom, which Johanna and I built for our... our second night as husband and wife. That wasn't where I'd slept since we went back from The Capitol. I'd always been with Johanna since then.

A check on the _right _room revealed that she's awake and out. I climb down the stairs, right into the sight of her sitting in the lounge. There's something in her hands, a steaming mug of something. Hopefully it's not coffee - _again_. I've told her a million times that she's not supposed to have that. Should've known better than to expect her to listen, but I guess I still had to try.

"It happened, didn't it?" she asks. "I heard the phone."

"Yeah," I tell her. "Poor kids."

She laughs emptily.

"We should really make a club jacket or something like that," she says. "It'll say 'I pissed off Snow, then he got me raped and killed my family'"

Heavens. That sentence stings.

I walk to the nearest armchair and plop down. My head turns itself towards our stagnant window as soon as I'm seated. I don't think I can look Johanna in the eyes now. Not when all I can think about is _that _night, and how they'd made me watch those Peacekeepers forcing their ways on her. That was the only time I wished Snow had killed me instead, I think. Dying wouldn't have hurt _that _much.

"Johanna," I finally say, wary and deflated. "I know I failed you, but please. Not now. I can't deal with that."

"What a defeatist," she sneers at me. "And, for hell's sake, stop that 'I failed you' campaign. We both know Snow's sick to the bones."

I don't give her an answer, for I don't have any. I still think I've completely failed her when it happened. Even afterwards, as she laid there... Hell, it took me a couple of minutes to gather myself and carry her out of there. I even left her alone that night, as I went out and got drunk with some older Victors. It wasn't until Finnick dragged me back and Maysilee Abernathy slapped me right across my face that I had the decency to actually see her.

I kiss Johanna's head, as she slides onto my lap, squeezing our unborn kid between us. We've tried our best to help each other forget, but, sometimes, the past still finds its way to our hard-earned present.

* * *

We fulfil _my _promise and call Katniss's house a couple of days later. To be more exact, _Johanna _makes that call to Katniss's house to fulfil _my _promise to Haymitch and put it on loudspeaker so that we both could hear.

"_Everdeen residence,_" a female voice greets us. Straight away, I recognize her as Katniss's sister Primrose. The one she'd volunteered for three years ago.

"Hey Twinnie," Johanna replies. "How are things there?"

There's a bit of silence. I almost speak up and tell Primrose who we are, but Johanna's glare stops me. It's only then it dawns on me that what Primrose isn't sure about is _what to say_, not _who we are_.

"_It's pretty bad,_" Primrose finally admits. "_We had the funerals yesterday. We're all still sad._"

"Twinnie," Johanna says, for once sounds serious and glum, "we're sorry."

I squeeze her hand, because she's just said what I'd wanted to say.

"_Thanks,_" Primrose says across the line. "_Well... I don't think Katniss and Peeta can talk now, but I'll return the call once they're ready._"

"Sounds good," Johanna agrees. "You take care, Katniss's Twin."

"_You too take care, Katniss's other sister and brother._"

The call ends there. As we turn the speakerphone off and head back to our kitchen for some hot drinks, I can't help but thinking that even if things had turned out differently, our Seventy First Victor would still be an Everdeen girl from District Twelve.

A couple of days later, she returns the call. This time, she has Peeta Mellark, who is pretty much recovered, by her side.

"_Thanks guys,_" he tells us, sad yet somewhat peaceful. "_Your friendship means so much to us. I hope I'll get to know you guys more in the future._"

"Oh, don't you worry, Blondie," Johanna replies, sure as fire. "You're sure to meet us twice a year, for at least fourteen more years to come. Now, work on that Victory Tour talent. Let me see what you can do."

There's a laughter from the other end of the line. It's a little bit of a miracle, but the boy actually appreciates Johanna's unconventional sense of humor.

"_You guys wanna commission a painting?_" he asks us.

"Well," Johanna answers. "I think I'll get sick staring at my own face, but you can do one of Gale and the kid when it's born."

"Just the kid," I correct her. "It'll be weird having a painting of myself on the wall."

Peeta laughs.

"_Hope the kid won't inherit your portrait-shyness._"

I think I actually laugh at that, because I'm not even sure what the kid will turn out like. Johanna and I raising a kid. Hell, that will really be... interesting. Not that two Victors haven't raised kids before, but often at least one half of those couples are _saner_ than Johanna and I both are now.

We hang up not long after. The boy needs his time alone, after everything. I must say his lucidity gets me somehow; I wasn't expecting him to be fully articulate and sane at this point. Whatever that guy's soul is made of, it's pretty impressive.

"That boy's a bit of a miracle," I mention to Johanna as we go to bed that night. "All of that, _and _still laughing. I don't quite get it."

"You do," she simply tells me. "We all do it everyday, Soldier."

"Do what?" I ask her.

She tilts her body towards me and touches my face.

"Projecting your pain into something else."

For someone so careless and crass, my girl - my _wife _- surely has her pieces of wisdom.

* * *

The perfect opportunity to break off this circle of devil we're all running in comes a couple of months later, when the streets are full of autumn leaves and Johanna is much bigger than I've ever seen her be.

During those months between the District Twelve tragedies and today, I've actually done plenty of researches and written down plenty of drafts. What Panem actually looks like; how many percent of land is actually the districts and how many other is the Capitol's land. Where all the Arenas approximately are, based on some old geography books and my memories of the things. What were actually done to mutts, and how to best tackle it. Where District Thirteen has actually been, and what exactly happened during the dark days. Things some other Victors have gathered throughout the years, of how the Capitol is run and what is likely to ruin all of them. Which districts are likely to rebel; and which will be either too scared or too ignorant to. How to break the Arena force field; what sort of competing forces you can use to free yourself out or break someone else free.

I keep all those drafts and plans in several secret stashes around the house, at places the Peacekeepers won't bother searching in case Snow wants to raid our house.

At this point, I'm still pretty much alone in this crusade. There are Haymitch, Volts, and Finnick; but not many more. Four districts out of twelve, against that behemoth called The Capitol. We can win, but the odds are clearly not in our favour.

We have two potential new allies in Eight and Eleven, who are restless as after what happened to their tributes during Peeta's Games. Who is going to be in charge for Eight, though, is still undecided. Eleven will be alright with Chaff, but the Victors in Eight are either elderly or still having some responsibilities of some children. Apparently Cecelia promised to try to find someone fitting for this purposes, although so far there's no strong candidate among them garment factory workers.

There's also District Six, actually, but with their morphling addiction, they won't be much of use. They are one of the many reasons many younger Victors are still morphling-free, actually. Our mentors just have to parade them before our eyes to show us what the thing can do to you - or to what is left of you after the Games and everything else.

That makes it all seven districts, if you count Eight, Eleven, and Six. Which is a majority, out of the twelve districts. Combining resources and forces, though, the five districts which aren't yet in this are still much stronger. If they're still standing for the Capitol, the behemoth might still be able to crush all seven of the rebelling districts. It managed to crush thirteen districts seventy four years ago, although it's arguable how coordinated they had been back then.

Hell, I don't know what our already shitty life would be should we rebel and fail. And it does scare me, for I know Johanna, our kid, and our brothers will be among the first ones Snow guns down should that happen. But to not rebel means bowing down to every single thing Snow wants, and I'm fully sick of it.

He starved all of us as kids. Him and his sick Capitol made all of us kill just to survive and get back to our loved ones. He loaned us out like we were his properties. He killed our loved ones, if we dared to question him.

He made some people _rape _my girl, while some others held me down right there on the scene. The way he'd done it to Maysilee and Haymitch before; and repeated on Peeta and Katniss afterwards.

And I know he's already well on his way to make sure all our kids get reaped when their time comes.

I'd rather die than go through life terrorized by that fucking bastard.

Thus I plan and plan, and draft and draft. Until one day, when I arrive back home from a quick walk to the markets to find the little brothers sitting at our kitchen table, with some of my drafts scattered on it.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" I demand them, as I stride over to grab those drafts from them.

"Found them by accident," Rory shrugs out. "Look interesting, but I didn't understand a dime. Thus I took it to the Brainiac here."

Sven looks up. There's something unusual in him, though, this time. This boy is one to feel guilt, hard and fast like the sensible person he is. But, alas, he's not guilty. He's staunch. As if, he's finally found something to stand for.

"Gale," he tells me, quiet yet firm. "Most Peacekeepers are actually from District Two."

_What? Where did he get that from?_

"Who told you that?" I demand.

"You know drinks and women always do that, Gale," he explains. "Give a bit to a Peacekeeper, and he'll tell you anything and everything you wanna know. It's more about the money than the patriotism for them anyway."

Heavens. I think I don't actually know who this boy is.

"You're not the only one who wants to rebel, Big Brother," Rory barges in. He leans forward on his seat, bringing his face closer to me. "Sven and I have been involved with... things, for a couple of years now."

These boys.

These stupid boys.

"I DID EVERYTHING TO KEEP YOU GUYS ALIVE!"

A brief ringing. Then, silence. They don't even respond to that.

The anger in my chest keeps burning, hard and fast. I feel fire in my blood now, coursing through my veins. These stupid boys are out here risking their heads, whilst Johanna and I whored ourselves out just so that they could live. Let all the fuck descend upon them, for all their fucking stupidity and ungratefulness.

I turn around and head for the backyard, for nothing else would do at the moment. Someone follows me. Rory. I push him back, just so that he stops. The pest should see how annoying he currently is to me.

"Gale," he says - _pleads _-, "let us explain."

"No need," I throw him back. "I know everything. I know everything in your mind."

"You don't," he says firmly. "Come back in. We need to discuss this."

I exhale and close my eyes, just to calm myself down a bit.

"Five minutes," I tell him. "Five minutes, then I'll go get a drink or something."

He nods, so it's all sealed. We settle back on the dining table, on our usual chairs.

"Jo," Sven mentions quietly. "She's upstairs. I'll go get her."

"No need to get _your sister_," I emphasize to him. "It's between us three."

"But this is about her too."

"I said no, Sven."

He looks agonized for a second, then lets it go. Seriously. This kid is becoming really unpredictable.

"Okay, let's start," Rory decides, after a quick glance at the ticking clock. "Basically, we think that the Games is fucked, it killed kids unfairly, and that it's fucked up with your brains. Thus we want it to end."

"That explains nothing, Rory," Sven interjects patiently. "So, Gale. Rory's been feeling guilty since you volunteered for him. And I've been feeling angry since we all saw Elaine dying. We both know that everyone else was..."

He trails on a bit at this, before taking a deep breath.

"... that everyone else _in the family_ was murdered, for one or another reason. And that no one is able to escape justice for those, except if it is Snow or someone he knows."

Lord. These boys are becoming way smarter than I think. What they've actually been doing all these times I was in The Capitol?

"There's this small group of rebels having bi-weekly meeting at that tavern under the hill," Rory blabbers in, with his usual snarky verbal diarrhea. "We've been going there since... since forever, I think."

"Since you were legal," Sven corrects. "They don't mind patrons bringing youths, as long as an adult is supervising. So, yes, Rory supervised me."

More like Sven supervising Rory, really, judging how those kids are. And judging who's more drunk at the end of each of their _mystery _drinking trips.

"Whatever," Rory elbows him out. "Bottomline is, we're ready to fight. We can work together to make the rebellion happen."

"Guys," I tell them, running my hand tiredly on my hair. "You're untrained."

"And you?" Rory challenges me. "I haven't seen you training a single day since you came home with a crown, Gale. You're no fitter to rebel than we are."

Fuck. My little brother's right. I might have done the couple of odd trips to the woods and exercises, but there's no way I'm going to be a soldier this way. My shooting might have even gotten a bit rusty. I haven't shot anything since the Training Center.

"We can all be rebels together," Sven offers a peaceful solution. "Gale can watch us, and we can help him. How does it sound?"

"He doesn't need to watch us," Rory disagrees. "But yes, we can help him."

I look at them, for there's nothing else I can do now. These kids are in too deep. Hell, I don't even know what kind of group they're mingling with. They might already paved their own way to death now.

Hell.

"Take me to your group," I demand them. "I need to know what these are all about."

Sven throws a glance at Rory. Then, Rory throws him back a glance, completing the cycle of signals. I don't know what is this thing that they know that they don't want to share.

"District Thirteen."

Ah, yes. District Thirteen. Rumour says it's not actually dead, though so far I'm yet to prove it's actually still alive. Haymitch and the others often mentioned it; both as the plan to break the cycle and in the context of where on earth Margaret 'Madge' Abernathy is.

"Is it truly there?" I probe Sven.

"It is," Rory barges in. "We've been in touch with some people from there."

I look at my brother, and my wife's foster brother who is mine as much as Rory is, and take a deep breath.

"Take me to them," I order. "I need to know."

* * *

Communication with District Thirteen turns out to be somewhat of a luxury, thus I have to wait a bit for it to happen. When it happens, though, some short days into the winter, it's no joke. They even know where the Arena for next year's Hunger Games is, and have pictures of it being built.

"Fuck, it's really small," Johanna groans, as I show her my quick hand-copy of the statistics. "What's the Quell theme?"

Every twenty five years, they'll have this thing called Quarter Quell, which is basically the same old Games with twists in the reapings.

"No data yet," I tell Johanna. Thirteen hasn't yet heard of what it would be. What The Capitol always say about the Quarter Quells being pre-designed by the founders of Panem is full of shit. It's usually designed by the President and some Gamemakers and some other Capitolites, right before the 'Quarter Quell announcement'.

"Let's hope they're not throwing seventy two children inside that Arena," Johanna comments desperately. "That would be like trying to fit..."

She gasps, all of a sudden.

"Jo?" I ask her, tentative for I know what might be happening.

"Been having these all day," she brushes it off. "It'll usually bugger off in a bit. That one's just a little more painful than the previous."

Lord. This is it.

"You know you might be in labor, don't you?" I ask her, trying to be gentle while I run my hand on my hair.

"Indeed," she answers sharply. "I just... fuck this, Gale. I can't have this kid. I'll just keep it in."

"You know it's not that easy, Jo," I tell her. "It's ought to be born one day."

"Not. Today," she spits out - at _me_. "Not when Snow's alive. That bastard's gonna kill my kid."

Snow. Always, Snow.

That familiar fire burns in my chest again, as I look up at my wide-eyed, terrified lover.

"He won't," I tell her. "As long as I'm alive, that bastard's not gonna touch _our _kid."

She shoots me a glare and opens her mouth to say something, only to end up hissing in pain a millisecond later.

"It's getting worse," she says, looking at me through what might be _teary _eyes. "I think the water broke this morning after you went out. There was this puddle of water around my feet."

"Fuck," I mutter, realizing how _advanced _this has gone. "Hang in here. I'll get the boys to get the midwife."

"No," she tells me firmly, through gritted teeth and teary eyes. "I don't want the midwife. Or anyone else."

"People _did_ die in childbirth, Johanna!" I desperately chide her, as I move closer to her. "Neither of us know how to do this! We might end up killing you!"

"Yes, Captain Obvious," she mocks me. "I know. I'm just taking the risk here."

At that, she sets her big, brown eyes on me. And I just can't say no.

Us, the two of us, Gale and Johanna, go through it all together. I let her lean against me and do anything I can do to help, crushed ice and damp cloth and all. She swears, crushes my hand, and _cries_. Not openly. It's that kind of silent cry, which actually wrung your heart even dryer.

"Listen!" she barks at me at one point, as the new day breaks outside our window. "This... is... all... pain... now. And... there..."

That never gets finished, for she's _yelped _and started pushing. Now, childbirth is never an area of interest for me, and I've never read about it. I really don't know what to do now.

"Pressure," she explains to me, once she stops pushing. "I... just... have... to."

Another yelp. _Shit._

"Jo," I tell her finally, knowing that this is the only thing I can do. "I'll have to move over down there. Will you be alright?"

"Just... _fucking... _do... it!" she barks out.

The next minutes passes in this numb, slow motions, as _things _happen. It starts with a crown. Then a head. Then, a baby.

A squirming, alive, _male _baby in my hands, screaming into the morning air as his mother lets out this agonized cry and some sobs.

"Ssh," I say, though I'm not sure who I'm sush-ing here. "Ssh. You're alright."

"Deal with him quick," Johanna croaks, looking at us with her somewhat-disoriented, brimming eyes. "There's something else we'll need to get out."

The nearest clean thing I can get is a clean towel laying on the bed. One of us must have thought of shower last night, before all these chaos happened. I use it to pat the baby - _Lord, this is my kid _- and wrap him, before handing him to his shaking, now openly crying mother.

"Cord," Johanna instructs. She heaves up the bugger to her bare chest - we took off her clothes at midnight, for they were all drenched - and looks up at me. "We can't keep him attached to whatever thing it is which is still inside."

There are these few little things she's prepared on the dresser, most probably when I was away. She _did_ know she was in labor, after all. There are some scissors, some kind of clamps, some suturing kit, and a large bottle of Vodka. I use the Vodka to sterilize the things, then walk back over to work.

The next minutes pass with Johanna telling me what to do, and me doing things on the cord, the baby, the afterbirth, and _her_. For once, I actually listen to all she says. I actually take her orders.

When it's all done, we have a baby, some soiled sheets, and a bucket full of gross looking stuff with us.

"Fuck," Johanna groans, as she takes in the sight in front of her. "This room's gonna stink for weeks."

"Well," I tell her, feeling something I've never felt before. "That's the best we could've got, really."

We both laugh - and cry - upon the realization that everything is indeed alright, and that the little bugger is here now. He doesn't do much except crying, staring blankly at some distance, and, uhm, _suckling_. And it's still too early to tell whether he favours Jo - his Ma - or me - his Old Man. But he's our kid. I didn't think this was possible before, but I can actually feel it. He's my kid. Mine and Johanna's kid. We made him. By accident, but still. We created this little person here.

And as long as I live, nothing bad would ever happen to him. Or to his Ma, for that matter.

* * *

A couple of hours later, as we've all calmed down, things - and _people_ - have all been cleaned, and the two new uncles have had their chances holding the kid, I make the necessary phone calls. Or unnecessary, really, but I don't care. Don't think I've ever been this _drunk _before. And hell, there's not even alcohol in my system.

"Hey," I say, to the other person at the other end. "I've just delivered my kid."

**next: Katniss - The Victory Tour, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

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**Thanks for reading! Hope you like the chapter.**

**Will try to update sometime within the next 7 days, but travel has been crazy thus I can't really guarantee. Stay tuned though!**


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: **So, I planned to update about thirty six hours ago... then I overslept, had to catch a train and move to a new hotel, and found out I had no wifi. Thus this had to wait until I moved to yet another city and another hotel which (thankfully) has wifi.

Special thanks to my reviewers: MiaBelles, axes tridents and snares, jc52185, and Tori from ff, and CrazyAboutBooks, MaidenAlice, and mitzy from AO3. Thanks for all of you who've followed, favourited, kudo-ed, subscribed, and bookmarked too. You guys are awesome :D.

This one is short, an interlude. It's coupled with the next chapter, though, so don't worry.

**Disclaimer:** borrowing Suzanne Collins' stuff here.

* * *

**Chapter 17: First Interlude**

**District Twelve, Year of the 74th Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

Days pass by.

They just flash before my eyes, as I lay in my bed, numb with all the guilt and debilitating thoughts. Sometimes I find Peeta next to me, and we'll hang on to each other. He feeds me cheese buns and some soup, and I sing for him whenever I find my voice. Sometimes, Prim will come in too. She'll try to make conversations and talk, even though I can hardly respond.

My twin and my boy. I don't know how I deserve them. Why are they still here, after I've killed their families? I should have known much better than to let my emotion take over and let myself sing that stupid song. Thanks to me, Prim now has no mother and Peeta has no family.

Slowly, though, things start getting better. I guess everything is always easier the second or third or whatever time around. Those first times, I had Finnick and Gale and Johanna to help me out. What I learned back then, I think, helps me through my bout of depression this time.

The day when I finally decide to live again is also the day the first snow falls this winter. Peeta's Victory Tour will come before we even know it. With shame and guilt, I realize that I haven't been helping him at all with the tour. Or with anything, really. He was the one helping me.

"Sorry I checked out like that," I tell him, that snowy day a week later. "I didn't want to abandon you. I swear."

"I know," he simply says, smiling at me. "I know, Katniss. Stop apologizing."

He holds me in the bed afterwards. And that fire we ignited in each other in our good old days burns again. It's good and it's sweet, and there's this sense of completion I feel afterwards as we lay close together.

"You love me," he asks, "real or not real?"

'Real or not real' is a game we've always played as kids. I don't know who started it, but it ended up becoming this habitual thing for us. We would mention something which can either be truth or a complete bluff, and ask the other person whether it's 'real' or 'not real'. Everyone eventually grew out of it, except Peeta, I think. He still plays it with me from time to time; whenever I start doubting myself.

"Real," I answer him, as I shift towards him and press our lips together.

The next phase of forgetting then begins. Prim and I clean up our mother's room, keeping her few jewelleries and donating the rest to some Seam families in need. Peeta and the Seam boys from our group - and some other men and women from Seam we know - clean up the ruins of the Mellark bakery. He's been running a makeshift bakery from his Victor's house.

"_Someone is ought to provide the district their bread_," he reasoned, as he explained his plan to me.

It's not a permanent thing, though. He's gathered a few districtfolks who are good at baking and arranged for a new bakery to be built in the Merchants' Quarters. It'll still be a Mellark bakery, but it will now provide livelihood and reasons for some people who would otherwise have to go down into the mines or be in some family trade they don't feel passion for.

The houses where Peeta's brothers and their families died are still empty. Peeta's planning to hand them over to any Seam family who'll take them, once we actually find ones who will. Everyone knows that the deaths were results of wrongdoings. They have enough fear and respect to leave the crime scenes alone.

"One step at a time," Prim says - _wisely_ - as we sit together for dinner one day. "One day, it'll all be alright again."

I don't know where my sister gets her wisdom and maturity from, but I know, that very moment, that I have definitely done the right thing by volunteering for her. She's my little sister, even just by ten minutes. Protecting her is one of the best things I could've done with my life.

Two important calls from outside the district grace us that winter. First, there's this call from an excited Finnick at District Four, telling us that Dylan has finally stood up on his own. My Victor Brother's son is growing up.

The next call comes from District Seven. Prim, who gets it, looks bewildered at first, before squealing in excitement and saying her congratulations. Gale has apparently delivered his kid. In the sense that, he helped Johanna delivering their kid, without help from anyone else. It's a boy. They call him Jack, for some random reason only Johanna knows. And he's my godson. I don't know why on earth my Victor Twin and my Victor Sister chose me as godmother, but hearing his loud - and I really mean, _loud_ - cries over the phone line invokes something else in me. For each loved one Snow took from us, fate will grant us a new one. Life has to go on.

My name's Katniss Everdeen, and I am alive.

**Next: Katniss, The Victory Tour, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

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Straight on to the next one guys... :).


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **All belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Victory Tour, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

Like mine, Peeta's Victory Tour kicks off with an early morning visit from both his prep team and the one who's always handled me. Haymitch and Maysilee are coming, too, and it means double job for both prep teams. We aren't a terrible bunch, though, apparently. Octavia, my youngest prep team member, feeds me with stories from her friend who is in District Five's prep team as she rips off all the hairs on my legs.

"He's always drunk," she tells us the story about one of District Five's male Victors. "And there's no single day they don't have to wash vomit off his hair! Eww!"

As I look at a straight-faced, calm Maysilee, I can't help but thinking of how Haymitch would have turned out without her. He would've been that bumbling drunk, I think. Someone the prep teams gossip about.

Thank fate for Maysilee and her calm strength.

Portia put us in our outfits afterwards, then it's time for a tentative goodbye with Prim and the Abernathy boys. We have asked some of our friends from the Seam to stay with them when we are away, just in case. Snow won't kill them, we all know. He'll still need some leverage to keep us all in check. And, in two years, the Abernathy boys will be twelve and eligible for reaping. Snow will surely want one of them in there in the Arena. Perhaps the older, because Haymitch loves him more.

I tear my eyes off them, for suddenly I can't bear to look at them anymore.

"Have fun!" the younger twin, who is totally Maysilee's child, waves at us. "Bring me home some Capitol Cookies!"

What his parents say to that is a mystery to me, since I'm sitting in this car I share with Peeta, and the Abernathys are in the other car. Knowing Haymitch, though, he'll most probably seeth. I've never found someone who hates Capitol's guts more than he does. Even Gale's burning hatred towards those bastards looks young and naive put next to what Haymitch has.

My suspicion is well and truly confirmed once we've been driven into the station and escorted into the train.

"Ya' should stop spoiling him rotten," Haymitch tells Maysilee, sharp and angry, as we sit together for some cups of tea and chocolates in the dining room. "Or we'll soon have to bring him that vomiting concoction as well."

"He's a kid, Haymitch," Maysilee responds, patient yet unwavering. "Let him see the world as he wants it."

"Yes, yes," Haymitch brushes her off. "Let him see the world as he wants it, and drop dead on the floor because of it."

"Haymitch!"

"Huh? I'm just telling ya' the truth, wifey!"

Needless to say, they disappear afterwards, most probably to yell at each other and resolve that difference. It's not the best thing, really, but it doesn't surprise me. Maysilee might be calm, but she's never been half-hearted in any of the fights she ends up in.

"I don't understand those two!" Effie exclaims. "How are they still married now?"

"Because they love each other?" I challenge her warily.

"You guys in the districts are just weird!" Effie slams again. "Those two there! And those kids from Seven! How can you love someone you always fight with?"

"Because you can't explain love," I find myself answering.

Effie looks at me as if I've grown two heads.

The conversation quickly moves to this Capitol gossip, though, so I don't think she's read too much into what I said. Which is good, because I don't think she'll ever understand. Them Capitolites do not love. At least, the way we do. Their 'love' is bizarre, sick, and twisted. Like everything else there, it's unreal.

District Eleven slowly appears before our eyes; a vast expanse of fenced orchards on both sides of the railtrack. They're much bigger than Twelve, yet not at all richer. The year of my Victory Tour, I remember seeing this large crowd of people, most dressed in rags. Since then, I've heard from their mentoring Victors that the Peacekeepers work all of the orchard workers hard and cruel here.

"Here we are," Effie sings, as soon as our train halts in the station. "Peeta, Katniss, I need you guys to hold hands! Let District Eleven see The Diamond Couple!"

I roll my eyes, though I take Peeta's extended hand nevertheless. The Capitol calls each of their Victor couples a certain name. Haymitch and Maysilee are The Golden Couple, because Haymitch won the Games on its "Golden Anniversary" and Maysilee has what they think is "golden hair". Gale and Johanna are The Iron Couple, because of his eyes and her crazy stunt cutting off her own finger in her Games. Why on earth is 'Diamond' for us, I have no idea. And I'm not interested that I've never tried finding out.

There aren't as many people in this station as there were in my Victory Tour. In fact, there are perhaps half as many Peacekeepers as there are people here, way above the usual ratio. I wonder if someone is plotting to kill any of us in Team Twelve, though I can't really see any valid reasons for that. None of us killed their tributes. Even Maysilee, who has the highest kill count among us.

It's the usual affair of getting driven to the Justice Building afterwards, and I'm pretty wary already I tune things out and just zone off. The next thing I'm aware of is standing behind Peeta before the Justice Building door, ready to watch him delivering his Capitol-scripted victory speech.

"Could you hold this for me?" he says, as he hands over his speech card to me.

"Don't you need it?" I ask him back.

"I've memorized the thing," he answers me, confident and calm. "I'll be alright."

Effie's out there already, and Haymitch and Maysilee are still too busy discussing their earlier argument to notice. All checked, I take the speech card and shove it into the only place I can think about - inside my dress. I can't wait to tell Johanna this tale now. I bet she'll be ecstatic.

The door opens before us. I let Peeta's hand go, as he steps forward to greet the crowd gathering for him. They're eager for him, I must say. In the same uneasy way those people in the station have been.

... and with a much less, yet still somewhat high, Peacekeeper to civilian ratio.

"There are so many Peacekeepers," I tell Maysilee quietly, as we take our spots at the back of the stage. "What's going on?"

"Sssh," she shushes me. "Peeta's about to start."

I have a feeling that there's something more than that, but Peeta's indeed about to start that I remain quiet.

Peeta's scripted speech is pretty much the standard Victors' speech, with little bits and modifications the Capitol thrown to match his image. Less hostility, a little more generosity... I can't wait until we get to the Capitol and see my friends, so that we can add Peeta's speech into our collection-of-comparable-speeches.

I can tell it bores the crowd as much as it bores me, for they all just stare blankly. No one falls asleep, though. Maybe they've been told that whoever falls asleep will be gunned down.

As usual, they display the families of the dead tributes at the front row of the audience. Thresh, the boy tribute, had a grandmother and a sister, from the look of it. And Rue, poor, young Rue, was apparently the eldest of six children. Her siblings stand there with their parents, looking up fondly yet sadly at Peeta. Rue was one of the members of Peeta's alliance, someone whom he'd cared about like a sister.

"... Rue..."

Did I hear that correctly?

I turn my head quickly towards Peeta, who's still standing there on the microphone. And it's indeed correct. He's now talking about Rue and Thresh, and how they've been in the Games.

_Shit_.

My reflexes turn my feet aside and propels my body forward a bit, ready to drag Peeta off that microphone before he can stray further from his scripted speech. Snow hates this thing. That one time I improvised mine, he had the little sister of my ally killed. I heard of it from their district's mentor the next year, as I came back to the Capitol to mentor.

"Katniss!" Maysilee hisses, catching my elbow. "Don't go yet! He's not finished."

That takes me back to reality. I step back and twist my body back towards the audience. The air grows more thick and suffocating with each second, so much that my heart starts thundering. It's ridiculous, really, being afraid to tell the truth. But Snow hates the truth when it opposes him, and I know what happens when Snow hates you.

I don't know what he'll do to Peeta this time.

The speech finishes soon afterwards. And, instantly, we are rushed back into the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers slam the doors close behind us as soon as we're in, and Effie is soon dragged by her elbow into the building. Then, there's then this loud bang from outside.

Someone has been shot.

All the noises outside dies down from the on, as the Peacekeepers bark orders for people to leave peacefully. Peeta looks at me, all wide-eyed and terrified. I think I mirror his expression when I look back at him.

"Straight in to the feast," Effie, who's re-appeared from somewhere inside the building, instructed. She's tight-lipped and distressed, and clearly in a hurry to get it all done. "Come in. All four of you! Chaff and Seeder and the others are waiting!"

We're all herded in, straight to the feast room. Just by one look, I can tell it's not ready yet. Waiters are still moving back and forth preparing the table. And the Mayor, our host, isn't even there yet. The only people in the room are some minor district officials, and the past Victors from Eleven including Seeder and Chaff.

"What's going on?" Peeta asks me, bewildered, as we retreat to a corner of the feast room.

"Something bad," I tell him, refraining from chewing my nails though I'm dead nervous now. "Sn... He... You're not supposed to say such thing, Peeta. Not in public."

"But why?" he asks me, curious and saddened.

"Because," I give him the only reason there is. "Let's just go join the others, alright? We shouldn't make this worse."

The dinner passes without any remarkable events. And so is the dance afterwards. It's only when we are back in our train compartment, preparing ourselves for some uneasy sleep, that someone answers Peeta's question.

"Sweetheart? Boy?"

That's Haymitch. I pull my nightshirt hastily over my head, as I walk over to get the door.

"Haymitch?"

"Just wanna make sure ye'r all bundled up and comfortable," he says, though his eyes tells me something else. A look over my shoulder confirm that Peeta's dressed, so I open the door wider. It's no secret that Peeta and I share a room nowadays, anyway.

"It's kinda cold," Haymitch barges in, as soon as the door's open wide enough for him to stick a hand. "Ya oughtta be warm. Let me check your hand, Sweetheart."

I give him my hand, for his eyes still says that _something else_. He grasp it and push something into it, pretending to make some agreeing noises for the bugging microphones and watching eyes.

"Ye'r alright," he then decides. "Keep him warm too."

"Will do," I say.

He leaves with that. As soon as he disappears at the end of the corridor, I close the compartment door back and throw myself to the bed hastily, next to Peeta.

"What's going on?" he asks me curiously.

"Oh, just Haymitch being drunk," I lie, though I know he must've caught the truth in my eyes. I hand him the thing Haymitch pushes into my hand. A small piece of paper.

'_Someone did the salute and got shot. Tributes' families safe._'

I guess we have valid reasons to destroy the paper under the running tap water and to spend a rather sleepless night full of nightmares.

The next leg is much better, for there are nothing in District Ten but cows and some happy cowboys and a rowdy party. District Nine is all frozen grainfields and lukewarmness. I have no exact idea why, but I don't think they've won any single Games in the past twenty years. Could as well be jealousy that yet another district now has a Matched Pair.

"I hope Eight has forgiven me already," Peeta says pensively, as our train pulls over at District Eight station. "I pull a knife on their girl tribute."

"To end her misery," I correct him. "It was the right thing to do, Peeta. She's Cato's kill."

I don't think he buys that completely, though, until we get back to the Justice Building after the speeches and the mayor approaches us with a strong-looking woman behind him.

"Ms Paylor is a cousin of our last girl tribute," he explains, as we all look at them. "She wishes to speak to you all about what happened in the Games."

"Not much, really," the woman corrects, with a smile which is a little tight yet somehow feels genuine. "I just want to thank our latest Victor for what he's done for the poor girl, on behalf of the family. We're really grateful for what you've done, Mr. Mellark."

Though Peeta says nothing to me, I can see how much easier it all becomes for him afterwards. He's no longer... acting. He's back to being his peaceful, free self.

"Can't wait for Seven," he says, smiling at me, as we climb back into the train that night. "I bet your godson looks like his Dad."

And that's truly confirmed the next morning, as my Victor Twin and my Victor Sister greet us at the station. What used to be a bump in Johanna's stomach is now a baby strapped in a sling around Gale's body, making some random noises at his father. Something stirs in me when I see the three of them together. It feels almost surreal to me; last year, we were Capitol hookers, and now, they're this happy little family with a baby.

"Welcome to District Seven," Johanna makes an opening remark. "There are more trees here than there are people, but that's alright because we always cut them down."

Now, that makes us all laugh. Though she still maintains that strong presence around her, I can see how motherhood has softened Johanna already. The pre-Jack Johanna would have said something way more scalding and sarcastic than that.

Although, when I think about it, it could've been fear as well. This station is full of Peacekeepers, and I don't think they'll even hesitate to pull their trigger on Jack if his mother doesn't behave.

"Here's the kid," Gale says, bending down a bit so that I can see Jack closer. "He's sassy like his Ma - don't get disheartened if he doesn't smile at you."

"Oh, get lost," Johanna waves Gale off. "If not for that, how else would they know he's my kid? We can tell people that Brainless here is his mother, and none of them would be wiser."

Now, that's a joke, and it's actually a little funny in this context, so I chuckle. Jack does look an awful lot like Gale. Which means, somewhat like me, with the skin and the hair. His eyes are a dark shade of blue, though, right now. I haven't seen a Seam baby with eyes this dark. I think he'll definitely have his mother's eyes when he's older.

Peeta slides next to me for a closer look. And, much to all our amazement, the little thing actually smiles at _him_.

"Oh, Bugger, Blondie," Johanna mutters. "Why can't you be easier to hate?"

We all laugh again, for Peeta's truly one of those few Victors you just can't hate.

The Speech at District Seven is pretty much standard, though the dinner is somewhat better for me with my friends around. They're bringing along Gale's brother Rory and Johanna's foster brother Sven; two young men who've never seen the Games. They look clueless and innocent, compared to all these world-weary people on the table, but it's them which makes this night really interesting.

"Were you guys really _on fire _in the Parade?" Rory probes cluelessly, as he eats so sloppily things scatter everywhere on the table. It's funny, actually, looking at someone who resembles Gale in physique but is much closer to Johanna in spirit. I remember Gale telling me that Johanna and Rory were best friends growing up.

"Rory, that's their secret," Sven warns him, giving us a subtle wink. "Let's just say it's real and enjoy the Tribute Parade."

For a fleeting moment, I'm convinced that he actually _knows _Cinna's secret to the fire.

We part with Gale and Johanna, with a promise to meet again in Capitol during the Victory Tour party. They're bringing Jack too, so that he can meet Finnick and Annie and Dylan. Snow's inviting Annie this year, the first time around since her own Victory Tour party. Now that she's got a baby, she's apparently interesting _again_. They'd pretty much forgotten her when they saw that she was a little too mad to function.

The topic of Victors The Capitol don't want you to see springs up again as we reach District Six and meet their Victors. Even Peeta, who's the kindest and nicest of us, is trying hard to hide his pity. Their extensive use of morphlings has turned their skins yellow and put them in this perpetual dazed state.

They aren't there at the party at the Mayor's house later that night. I heard they aren't even invited to it.

"He was apparently a nice, bright boy," Maysilee tells us quietly, as our train pulls away from the District Six station. "And she was apparently pretty and strong. Morphlings, and the stuff they do to you."

My hand finds Peeta's at this, squeezing it, as I thank him silently for pulling me aside that day I tried purchasing Morphling from The Hob.

Peeta is again nervous at District Five, for it's his nightlock berries which killed their fox-faced girl. Nothing really happens, though. Her family even looks a little bored during the speech. We hear from a friend of the Mayor's, later in the dinner, that they're more disappointed at their daughter's rash decision than at Peeta for collecting the berries at the first place.

"I wonder what kind of home life she had," Peeta says quietly, after I'd shared him the story. "My mother... she was apparently like that. When my brothers..."

He stops and takes a deep breath. Their deaths are still fresh, and sometimes it still pains him. "When my brothers were little, she'd yell at them for dropping a hot tray of bread on the floor. Even when they were doing it because the tray burned their hands."

"High expectations?" I offer him a term for it.

"Something like that," he says, planting a kiss on my forehead. "I'm glad we both got to grow up without it."

It's all forgotten by the next morning, as I'm getting all excited to meet Finnick again. His client basis has decreased now that he's gotten a kid, and thus he's been able to spend more time home with Annie and Dylan. He brings Dylan to the station to greet us, though Annie is nowhere to be seen.

"Annie's not well today," he tells Peeta when he asks. "She's napping off so that she can go to the dinner tonight, but it's just me and this handsome little guy here for now."

I've actually seen Dylan before, when Finnick and Annie brought him to The Capitol for mentoring. I have to admit, though, that I shamefully didn't pay attention to him at all. My mind was geared towards keeping Peeta alive, so much that nothing else mattered. Now that I've thought about it, I didn't actually talk to _anyone _then. Not even my own friends and Annie, who were taking care of me.

All the shame are soon forgotten, though, as Dylan puts a show and reaches away from Finnick, straight into a crowd of District Four girls. Even at eleven months and some weeks, he's already his father's soon. And, yes, Dylan looks _exactly_ like Finnick. His hair's got this slightly darker tint on it, but otherwise he's just a small Finnick.

Something stirs again inside me.

The world's going crazy.

The food at District Four dinner is good, and so is Annie's mood. She tells us stories about the district and chats to Peeta about arts and crafts - something she's passionate about, apart from swimming. Both Finnick and Dylan cling onto her for dear life the whole time. I have a feeling that it's more for _them_, though, not for her. Perhaps, Annie Cresta is finally coming back to life after everything which happened to her.

I think I've gotten a tour fatigue, for the three districts afterwards pass in a flash. I just remember Peeta getting a little memento from the family of that District Three boy he took in during his Games; some District Two Victors getting into full brawl with each other when we have dinner there; and District One presenting Peeta with yet another diamond stuff. The next thing I vividly remember is being in Floor Twelve again, prepared for Peeta's grand party tonight.

"A friend suggested this design," Portia tells me, as I stand in my underwear in front of the garment bag she's unzipping. "He said you might love it."

Then she pulls out the dress, and there's no one else I have in mind but Cinna. He's designing for me again. I don't know why, but he is.

The candlelight-yellow gown is simple and straightforward, with this fur stole and embellished belt with makes it stand out. Unlike the previous years, where I was made to look older than my age, they let me look my age this year. Even a bit younger.

Something is definitely going to go differently this year.

**Next: Katniss, The Capitol, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

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Thanks for reading guys. Next chapter will come next week, probably late on Sunday Sydney time. Till then, stay gold! Oh, and do ask me questions if you have any. I'm happy to answer :).


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: **Thanks to my readers, reviewers, followers, favouriters, kudo-ers, bookmarkers, and subscribers. And special thanks to my reviewers jc52185, axes tridents and snares, MiaBelles, MaidenAlice, CrazyAboutBooks, and HorseCrazy141. You are all awesome :)

**Disclaimer: **all belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

**Capitol, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

After I'm fully prepped, I make my way to the lift foyer to meet the rest of the team.

"Ya' look decent, Sweetheart," Haymitch comments, drinking something from his hipflask. "Finally looking your age."

"You'd better behave and stop drinking," Maysilee calmly threatens him, snatching away the flask. "You've got enough drunk stories to last a lifetime, Haymitch."

Even Maysilee - sweet, kind, calm Maysilee - can pull a Victors' sarcasm, whenever it's needed.

Peeta offers me his arm, and I take it. Now that we're standing together, I can see how the prep teams have coordinated our looks. His vest is the same candlelight yellow my dress is. As the star of the party, he's clearly dressed more lavishly than any other of us is. But there's still this small coordinated look between members of Team Twelve which is really clever.

I don't know what Cinna is up to, but clearly he's been working with Portia on all of these.

Our lift arrive, and we make our way down. Halfway through, it stops, and Team Seven enters. All of them. Blight, Gale, Johanna, and _Baby Jack_.

"Bugger's _freaking _clingy today," Johanna explains with a scowl. "He hates the babysitter, thus to the party it is."

This doesn't really seem right, so I shift my gaze to Gale. There's something else in his face. Distrust. It becomes apparent to me that it's _Gale and Johanna _who don't like the babysitter, not _Jack_. Well, perhaps Jack too doesn't like that babysitter, but at the end it's his parents' decision, not his. He's just a baby for the time being.

A conversation starts, but I don't even pay attention. My whole attention is grabbed by my godson, who's now looking at me from his perch on his mother's shoulder. Some fifteen or sixteen years from now, he might be that strapping lad in a suit, heading for his own Victory Party...

... wait. Why was I thinking about that? How can I see my godson as a Victor?

How can I wish this life on him?

"Brainless," Johanna hisses at me, "move over. No one can get out if you don't."

Startled, I turn around and see that the lift door has finally opened on the ground floor. Party time is truly getting closer.

I step out and wait for the others, before I continue my journey to the mansion. At this time last year, I was singing that beautiful song Gale had just taught me in my head, trying to convince myself that I would have Peeta no matter what. I was heading towards those lounges next to the front door, to meet that pervert who then tried molesting me in Snow's rose gardens. Right now, though, my head's empty. No, not my head. My _heart _is empty.

If I don't do anything, Dylan and Jack and any other children my friends or _myself _might have in the future will end up in the Games. We've seen too many Victors' children in the Games so far.

And none of them has won so far.

The realization hit me like a thunder, freezing my feet. I grab onto the nearest person - _Gale _- to stop myself from falling over.

"Catnip?" he asks me. "You right there?"

"Uh, yeah," I answer, as I take a breath and compose myself. "This... these shoes just aren't really practical."

It's not an acceptable excuse, of course, but no one asks. We're in full public view after all; and we don't generally talk our thoughts or feelings in public. One wrong word, and Snow's wrath will be on the loose. There will be deaths.

I stomp my foot on that pavement outside the Training Center, just to push down that anger rising in me upon the realization that we all _fear _Snow.

"Reign yourself," Johanna whispers in my ear, as we all shift along to the mansion. "Now's not the time. Patience, Brainless."

Whatever that really means, I actually listen to her this once and _reign myself_.

Team Seven is directed straight inside when we get to the gate, while the rest of us are told to wait to make a grand entrance. Which is, essentially, just a stupid strutting walk along that ridiculous blood-red carpet between the gate and the stage. Everyone in our little Victor family has some funny stories about theirs. Finnick's, for example, involved this stunt in which he had to catch a trident thrown by a cannon above the audience's head. Which sounded pretty ordinary, actually, if only the cannon actually _worked _during the supposed stunt.

Peeta's walk this year is just a walk. I was so relieved when they told us that. I hated each and every stunt they made us Victors do.

Team Four - Finnick and Annie and _Baby Dylan _and some other past Victors - make their hasty entrance five minutes before the party starts. Someone grumbles about the "stupid lift" as they walk past. Looks like we've been lucky to avoid yet another lift-jam in the Training Center.

"Alright, everyone!" chirps Effie. She's just slipped back out of the party; she came down here half an hours before we all did to make sure things are alright. "Back straight, chin up, here we go!"

They always parade the mentors' first, as a homage for their 'success', thus Haymitch and Maysilee enter first. If it was another Victor, then I'd walk behind them, but because this is Peeta's party and I'm his date, I'm actually walking in with him. We walk in behind Effie as we are cued; slightly unstable thanks to his leg and my shoes. No one falls over, though, thankfully. I'm not sure if there had been any chance of pretty photographs, but I was actually _relieved _when we get to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Snow, who's _hosting _the party tonight, announces. "Victor of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark of District Twelve!"

Thundering applause. The Capitol is still _excited_ about Peeta.

Snow then gives his standard address of the strong bond between The Capitol and its Victors. Whatever he says, I pay no attention. Why should I listen to a man who made us kill other kids, then enslaved us like we were his properties?

They then make Peeta repeat that standard Victor's address he's given in eleven districts already. I can even recite it in my dream now that I just zone out of it, concentrating instead on where we'll find the best food for tonight. The only thing I like from these parties is the food, and this year, I'll be able to actually eat because my date is Peeta. Whenever we took clients, we couldn't eat too much because it apparently 'appalled them'.

"Let's go find the roast," I tell Peeta, once all the formalities finish and we are free. "They're nice."

He agrees without hesitation, and together, we head for the roast. Turns out that we're not the only Victors to think about that. Everyone else is there, including Team Seven and most of Team Four.

"Nice address," Johanna winks at Peeta, as we join them near the roast station.

"Thanks," Peeta answers. "I practiced it thrice a day, every day for the last two weeks."

Laughter. He's definitely the talker and the joker of us two.

We end up going through the party in a group with my friends and Annie and the babies, stopping every now and then as people wants to see Peeta or coo at the kids. Even as babies, it's already apparent that Dylan is more of a people person than Jack is. I swear my godson _scowls_ every time a Capitolite stop by to coo at him.

"You should watch out for the vomiting concoction floating around," Gale lectures Peeta, as we walk past the drinks station. "It takes a while to adjust to it. You might end up in hospital tonight."

"What do they use it for?" Peeta asks.

Gale snorts.

"To not get fat," he then answers, without explaining further. "How else do they eat all of these?"

Cat's out of the bag. Peeta's expression changes a bit, before he smiles it off and pretends nothing's happening.

The party drags on and on. We eat until we can't eat anymore, play with the kids until they fall asleep, and try to find people we can actually talk to, to no avail. There's this interesting Gamemaker Plutarch, whom Gale manages to find and flag, but that's about it. And even conversation with Plutarch doesn't touch more topics than our famous friendships and how my Mockingjay pin is an icon again, now that they finally _realized _Peeta has used the same token in his Games.

"Now, excuse me, but I have to leave," he says after a while, pointing at his watch - his _Mockingjay _watch. "It starts at midnight."

Whatever starts at midnight for Plutarch isn't that important, for that's when the party ends and we're finally free. Peeta and I walk back to the center with our mentors and friends in tow, him limping slightly and me carrying my shoes in my hands.

"Don't you think some people are missing from the Victors' lineup?" Annie suddenly asks, as we tread through the pavements. "I don't think I saw the boy who won the Seventy Third."

Now, that sends a jolt up my spine. Yes, we definitely didn't see him.

"He might be hiding somewhere," Finnick calms us down, though something crosses his eyes I'm sure he's now thinking of it too. "That boy's a bit shy, unlike Peeta here."

We all laugh it off - a little awkwardly - and continue our journey, to the lobby of the Training Center.

"One of the lift's still broken," one of the older District Four Victors says, pointing at the lift furthest from the front door. "Don't know when they're gonna repair it, but I guess some lifts are better than none."

He sounds so sour I can't help but rethinking that comment from that other Victor earlier about "stupid lifts". I look at Finnick, who smiles at me and shrugs.

"The lifts were all broken when we tried getting down," he explains, as we climb into a lift with Peeta and Annie and baby Dylan. "We only had to climb down four flight of stairs, but that old dork has gone so unfit since his Games he's fretting out about climbing back up."

We all force a laughter at this, for there's no other appropriate reaction.

They get out at Floor Four, leaving us to make our way to Floor Twelve. We're the last one to get there; Haymitch and Maysilee and Effie are all sitting down watching the night news when we get in. No one has any energy to talk. Those parties are draining.

"Oh, Katniss, Peeta," Effie asks us, as she catches us walking to our room. "Did you guys see Jared Ohm?"

Jared Ohm. That's the name of our Seventy Third Victor, whom Annie was also asking about earlier.

"No," Peeta answers for us. "We didn't see many of the other Victors, actually. The food was just too good."

Haymitch snorts, and Maysilee smiles. Maybe this invokes some _deja vu _in them.

"Alright," Effie sighs. "His poor escort is looking for him. Apparently he missed some appointment."

That ignorance. That ignorance in Effie's voice.

I don't know if she realizes the true natures of those _appointments _and _dates _we Victors go on.

"I'm going to bed," I announce, suddenly not feeling up for talking anymore. "See you in the morning."

"See you."

* * *

Jared Ohm is apparently still missing when we sit down for breakfast the next morning. He's still nowhere to be seen a few hours later, when Peeta and I come back down from our little rooftop nostalgia session. Peacekeepers are called, and all of us Victors are questioned, but, no. He's disappeared without a trace.

"Boy's a bit of a mystery," Finnick tells me, as we gather on the rooftop with our partners and Gale and Johanna. "He's known for being unreliable, and he's lost his whole family within the last two years. He seemed to be a little... stressed out, for I heard he'd been calling all his previous dates for some kind of catch-up, all without anyone's knowledge."

"Including the one looking for him yesterday night?" I ask.

"The guy told the Peacekeepers so," says Finnick. "Said Ohm cold-called him a couple of weeks ago, asking if he's coming to the party. That boy actually wanted another date."

Well, that boy sounds absolutely _weird_.

Fast forward a few hours, and he's still nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, our times to board our Victors' Trains are nearing. Snow's not holding any of us up this year. Not Peeta, the newest Victor. Not me, the latest female Victor. Not even Finnick, his long-time cash cow. A-Diamond-A-Date - the Seventy Second Victor - is apparently earning him way more than what he needs to be satisfied.

"The world's no longer as simple as we know it," Finnick warns us, just before we all go our separate ways at the train station. "Watch out."

"Yes, Captain Obvious," Johanna says, rolling her eyes. She must've thought the same; the two of them often do. "Will do. Now, go back to your boat. I'm going back to my tree."

We all laugh - tensely - and continue with our goodbyes, as Effie screams at Peeta and I to hurry up.

"Catnip," Gale warns me quietly, just before I turn around and leave. "Keep your ears open, and listen to Haymitch. Things will be fine."

I don't know what he means, but the fact that Effie's now screeching and Jack's started fussing for his afternoon meal force us to break apart and head for our separate trains. As I climb in, I throw a look across the platforms, at the window where Johanna's sitting. She's looking at me. As if, trying to say something.

The world is truly no longer as simple as I know it.

* * *

"Marry me," I ask Peeta, as we lay on our bed, our first night back at District Twelve. "You're all I have now."

He looks at me and touches my cheek.

"No," he says, gentle but firm. "Not now. We'll get married someday, and it'll be for all the right reasons. And don't forget Prim. She's your sister, and you love her."

"Didn't you hear Finn and Jo, Peeta?" I whisper at him, harsh and panicked. "The world's no longer as simple as we know it! What kind of law will be passed tomorrow? Who's gonna die? What lies ahead of us? Marry me, please. That's the only piece of peace I can have."

"That's the wrong reason, Katniss," he says, still as gentle and as firm. "You've got to have hope. Things don't look that bad currently. If something happens tomorrow, and they pull us apart, then we'll find a way to get back to each other. I'll find my way to get back to you."

"What will be the right reason, then?" I challenge him. "I might have it within me. Just tell me, Peeta. I might have it."

I know that sounds wrong. But I can't help it. My mind's too blurred. There's this uneasiness and fear which overtakes my whole being, pushing my logic to a small forgotten corner in my head. We just have to get married. They can't tear us apart. They've already taken away my mother and pull my friends away from me. I don't want to be torn apart from Peeta too.

"Katniss," he says. Gone is the gentleness in his voice; his tone is flat. "By thinking that way, you're letting Snow win. You're letting him controlling you. You've got to fight it, Katniss. You've gotta be _you_. I'm not gonna marry someone who is not _you_."

I look at his face, as I take in those subtle changes in it. His jaw tightens. His lips are pursed. His eyes flickers with something. A thing I've seen in myself before. A thing I've seen in my Victor brothers and sister. The thing which sets apart a mere survivor and a fighter.

Peeta does have a fire.

"That said," he continues, a few seconds later. "We can do something else."

I watch his face softening back, and that fire in his eyes slowly dimming. There are lots of questions in my head now. What did he mean? Why did he say that?

Maybe my boy is also no longer as simple as I know him.

"You say you want reassurance, right?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I answer weakly. "I don't get you now, though."

He laughs and runs an affectionate hand on my hair, as I press my palm on my aching head.

"You know what happens when two people toast each other, right, Katniss?"

"Yes," I say. "They make promises."

"Then let's toast, and make promises to each other."

"Don't be silly," I scold him. "You didn't want to marry me, but you want to toast me now. Is it you, or is it me going crazy?"

"I'm gonna break the tradition here," he explains, a warm glow lighting his eyes - again. "Every time I promise you something, I'll make it over a toast."

"But why?"

"Because I want you to know that it's real," he answers, kissing me gently on my forehead. "Now, let's go find Prim and some bread."

He gets up at that, and leaves me alone on the bed. I follow him out after a few minutes of bewilderment, only to find that he's roused Prim awake. From the stairs I'm climbing down, I can see my sister stoking some fire on that fireplace downstairs, as Peeta potters in the kitchen on his heavy, uneven gaits. Something is definitely happening.

"I don't know what Peeta's doing," Prim admits, as I plop down next to her. There's this mixture of a smile and some frown on her face, the kind of thing only Prim does. "But it does sound good. I'm gonna sit here and memorize what you promise each other."

A second later, Peeta walks in, with two slices of bread on a tray and a long tong my mother has kept especially for my and Prim's toastings.

"I'm gonna start," he says, as he plops down in front of me. "I, Peeta Mellark, promise you, Katniss Everdeen, that no matter what happens, I will fight with all I have to find my way back to you."

With that, he guides my hand to the handle of the tong and helps me picking up the slice of bread, toasting it over the fire until it's browned and nice to eat.

"I'll hold my promise," he says, as he feeds me the bread once it's cooled down.

I prolong chewing the bread, for I don't really know what to promise. A cheeky laughter from my twin tells me that she's gotten me right there. Although our relationship has never mended back into that sweet twinhood we have before my Games, she's still my sister, and the only person to have known me since they day we were made.

"Your turn, Katniss," she finally nudges me, as it becomes really obvious how painstakingly long I'm dragging this all. "Tell him your promise."

Closing my eyes, I swallow that last piece of bread. I'm never a woman of words; not even the famous Caesar Flickerman could make me speak. Speaking means opening up, and I don't open up. Not after my father passed. Not after my Games and everything.

Then it dawns on me, what Peeta wants me to promise. It's nothing too extravagant, nothing too pretty.

He just wants me to fight hard to still be free self. He wants me to own my own fate.

"I, Katniss Everdeen," I start, as I open my eyes back. "Promise you, Peeta Mellark, that I will fight with all I have to be _me_."

Our eyes meet at that, and something courses through my veins. Right then, I know I've shot it straight on the heart. That's the only thing he wants from me.

"Make the toast, Katniss," Prim gently reminds me again, gesturing at the tong. "You've gotta burn the bread."

This is it. I guide Peeta's hand to the tong, and help him picking up the second bread, with my unusually shaky hand. It shakes all the way to the fireplace, and throughout the toasting; so much that I fear I'll drop the bread to the fire and burn it.

But I don't. _We _don't.

Peeta's steady hands make up for my shaky ones.

The thing is over, after I feed him the bread. We've now made promises to each other; in front of my sister and the fire on the fireplace. And I'm going to fight to hold on to the one I've made him.

My name is Katniss Everdeen, and I am going to be no one but _myself_.

**Up next: Gale - District Seven, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

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See you... when I see you, everyone. Have a good time till then! :)


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: **Thanks for reading. Thanks to all who have followed, favourited, given kudos, subscribed, and bookmarked. Special thanks to my reviewers from ff: jc52185, MiaBelles, and axes tridents and snares; and to my AO3 reviewers purelush, polarpi, MaidenAlice, and CrazyAboutBooks. You are all awesome.

This chapter covers a long period of time, and is pretty much 'technical' (considering it's Gale telling the story). I hope you all like it, though :).

**Disclaimer: all belongs to Suzanne Collins**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**District Seven, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

**Gale**

District Thirteen has enough artillery to take down The Capitol. It just doesn't have the people.

Some years ago, a disease struck their population, wiping up quite a number of them. Some other citizens, who were spared the death, were left infertile. District Thirteen doesn't have that much of a population now. Which is a bit of a waste, in my opinion, for I've seen the kind of things they are capable of doing.

One other thing they don't have, aside of people, is the _reason_.

They've worked out this deal with the Capitol seventy five years ago, that they would be given their independence and exempted from all Capitol rules and regulations as long as they hid themselves. That's what they've been doing the past seventy five years, really. Hiding underneath the ground, building their lives inside underground compounds.

If all the districts - One to Thirteen - work together, we might actually be able to take the Capitol down. And elect a new government which will fight for the districts, not _against _the districts. We can be one nation again, just like in the old days. We can all live well together, with equal opportunity for everyone. Someone from District Seven can be an Engineer. You can be born at District Twelve, and move to District Four because you're actually interested in fishing. A child of two garment factory workers from District Eight can move to District Six and make hovercrafts instead. So many different doors to open. So many different possibilities.

No more people dying because they're forced into jobs they aren't actually capable of doing.

I've been trying to take this point of coordinating the thirteen districts into each rebel meeting I've been in. Those local ones in that dubious impromptu taphouse down the hill. The cryptic-conference one, done through codewords on the phone or over the mail. As I dig into these matters more, it begins more and more obvious to me that isolating the district from each other is definitely Capitol's defense mechanism. There isn't really any way of passing your message through to another district, without having to think of some sophisticated cryptography or fear for your own life.

_Fuck you, Capitol._

With very little thing I can do to communicate with the different districts now, I've begun thinking up another plan which might bring us all together. Every year, they pit our children against each other in the Hunger Games Arena, making them kill each other. This is no doubt one of Capitol's other rotten plans. To make us hate and begrudge each other. By getting the tributes to actually work an escape together, we can send the districts this message that you can defeat The Capitol if you work together. Now, how to escape, and what happens afterwards are yet another points I'm working on now. There're Haymitch in Twelve, Chaff in Eleven, Finnick in Four, and Volts in Three, who are all working on it too. We don't really have any District Eight Victor who could help, and Heavens forbid that we involve those half-lucid addicts from District Six in our decision makings.

"Figure out where exactly the Arena is. Send off a bunch of soldiers to kill the Peacekeepers, and take the kids out the morning before it starts," Johanna suggests one night, as I dump off all these things in my brain at her. We've just had one of our big, petty fights before, sign that one or both of us are actually angry about _something else_.

"Security system," I tell her, recalling my own Arena experience. "They have these gates, all electronics. They can lock people out or trap them in with a press of button."

"That's why you need soldiers, Moron," she then scolds me, shaking her head. "There should be some kind of power switch there somewhere, right? Like that light switch on the wall? Why can't you just blow it up and be done with it?"

"That might be somewhere else," I reason with her, opening one of my closed eyes to take in the sight of her and Jack. They're both laying next to me now, in the master bedroom bed Jack was born in those months ago. Johanna can't be bothered getting up at night to do the midnight feedings. And she only told me that once I've had the crib and nursery prepared. Sometimes, she's still so _damn _annoying.

Thanks to her, too, the kid now sleeps through _anything _and _everything _except hunger and some seriously dirty nappy. I don't know how on earth I'll ever teach him to survive. Just now, he's slept through our entire argument, which I'm sure is loud enough to be heard of from the streets.

"It can't be that far away," she says, frowning. "Imagine that we have that light above us here, and a switch in _freaking _Capitol to turn it on. Say it stops working, how long will it take you to find out where the rat gnawed it? You'll be damned straight _freaking _lucky to actually find where the _freaking _pest is. Oh, and simpler stuff. Say that you really need to turn that _freaking _light off because the little _shoot _is waking up, would you want to make a call to Capitol just to do it? You'll want to turn it off _freaking _now."

I cringe at all those expletive substitutes she throws in. Having a kid hasn't changed her at all. When I asked her - in all seriousness - to stop swearing, she simply started putting in a similar-sounding word in place of each expletive. I guess I'll really have to supervise Jack's habits with words when he grows up.

But then she has a point. That master power switch has to be there, somewhere. At least, the master one for all the doors. Based on all those safety standards coming with those Capitol appliances, the default state of most things is _off_, not _on._

"We'll need District Five to work it out," I mutter, both to myself and to Johanna. "Gotta ask Volts and Haymitch to find someone from there."

"Don't," Johanna warns me. "Five isn't someone you can trust. That mentor with narrow, rat-face? I swear to hell, she's a _freaking _sadist pretending to be normal."

To be fair, Blight and I did draw some inspiration from District Five when working on Johanna's Games strategy. She'd actually stopped her cry of shock and anger by the time she woke up the day after the Reaping. It was me who asked her to just keep crying and crying, just to be unnoticed like _District Five_.

However, she's right. It's a common secret between us mentors that we generally distrust Five as much as we distrust One or Two. They are the people who work in the mutts lab, who make all those Arena monsters tearing apart our tributes. Some of their tributes were actually part of the group of children in training to be Muttation Engineers.

"You might be right," I agree - reluctantly - with Johanna's assessment. "They failed Jared Ohm after all."

To this day, Jared Ohm has never been found. He was apparently made a pariah in his own district, outcast after his family members started dying - even by his own mentors. I have a suspicion District Five actually knows what kind of life the young, beautiful Victors are having.

"Can't Volts work out something?" Johanna drills on, her voice piercing the still night air around us. "Usually he's pretty nuts for all things electric."

"Beetee's already working hard on other plans," I reason. "I'd take the responsibility if I can, but there's only so much I can do. I've never been given a chance to learn those things properly."

She lets out a sigh.

"You should've been born in District Three, you know," she tells me afterwards, with an eyeroll and a muted smile. "You'll be right at home there."

"And you?" I ask her. She's just mentioned that one point I often think about, of how The Capitol pigeonholes us based on where we were born. I wholeheartedly agree with Johanna that I would have done much better at District Three.

She cackles at that.

"Figured out I'm right at home here among the trees," she says. "I can cut down trees all my life, Hawthorne. And I'll be _freaking _alright."

Then Jack stirs, and she pauses for a bit.

"Well... nevermind," she then adds, as she gently pulls our son - _Lord, it still feels weird even months and months later _- back towards her just so that he doesn't end up rolling over me. I know there are a whole lot of things she's not saying there, deep underneath that brash facade. It's like those things she usually does. Scolding and ridiculing our brothers but still washing their clothes nevertheless. And telling me I'm the biggest idiot in the world, but still curling up against me in our bed at night.

Johanna does love; she just doesn't say it.

"Hellooo?" she snaps me out of my thought, waving her hand wildly on my face. I think I've just gotten caught staring at her.

"Just thinking of what you've just said about power switches and things," I lie to her. "Perhaps if we can get several past Arena maps, we can work out where exactly those switches are."

"Or this year's Arena's map," Johanna cuts in, a gleam of something in her eyes. "That exterior photos Thirteen have is obviously useless, but if you can get someone to groom a Gamemaker... Oh, shoot."

She grabs my shoulder hard, so hard that I hiss in pain.

"Gale," she snaps at me. "Plutarch. Plutarch _freaking _Heavensbee. He's the Head Gamemaker, right?"

"Oh, _fuck_," I mutter, pressing a palm on my face for my own memory lapse. "Yes, he is. We can get Finnick to talk to him in Capitol. Stupid us."

"Stupid _you_," she sasses me out, as she opens her shirt to placate the fussy kid who's asking for his night meal. I can't help but feeling a bit sorry for her at these times. Jack's actually started growing _teeth_.

I codeword that message for Plutarch and send it through the phone to Finnick the next morning. He's actually coming to Capitol for one single assignment in a couple of days; a perfect timing. We sit tight eagerly here at Seven, waiting for the news. But it never comes. Plutarch won't tell Finnick the Arena map. Apparently, he's worried Finnick will use it for his own tributes' advantages, instead of for the rebellion.

"Fuck it," Johanna snaps at me, once I share her the decoded message. "How can you trust someone who doesn't trust you enough, Hawthorne?"

"It's not us he's not trusting," I reason with her, ransacking my brain for a possible explanation. "It's Finnick. Finnick was a Career, Jo. I think that might be why."

"He knows Finnick's a rebel, Soldier," she shoots back at me. "How can you win a game with an ally you can't _fucking _trust?"

"Well, did you trust all your allies in your Games?" I shoot back.

"No, but I didn't have _fucking _any! Did you trust your _ally_?"

"I..."

I trail off at that. My only ally in my Games was Johanna's sister-in-law Elaine.

"I think I did."

"You _did_," she corrects me. "I watch that Games. You _trusted _El. That was how you survived."

_El. _That's what Elaine wanted everyone to call her. I haven't heard that again in a while. Not after...

"Okay," Jo cuts in, snapping me out of that trail of depressing thoughts. "What do you think is that bastard Plutarch's _real _reason?"

I look at her.

"I... I can't tell," I tell her honestly. "It's like..."

"He's hiding something from us," she snaps in. "Really poorly."

Now that she's called it off, I can see it. There's something Plutarch's not telling here. All those opportunities when we were all in the Capitol, all passed with no hints given to us. Even that one conversation, the one with him leaving for something else at midnight, was pretty much meaningless.

Far out. I don't know what we're getting ourselves into, really.

"I'll talk to Haymitch," I say, as I cup my hands around my mouth. "He has to know this."

* * *

Haymitch's only reaction, as I codeword-called him was, "oh."

At first, I took it as he wasn't interested in what I said, but, no. A letter arrives a week or so later, codewording, "I know."

With that in mind, we plough through the rebellion planning. All while keeping our eyes on the Quarter Quell announcement, which should be coming in a couple of weeks. Haymitch maintains that Plutarch's secretiveness has something to do with it.

And so does Jo.

"What do you think will be the most epic Quell ever?" she asks me, half-jokingly, as we stay up all night with the screaming, teething bugger.

"One filled with screaming babies?" I joke back at her, as the sleep deprivation has truly gotten me.

"Quarter Quell: Family Edition," she comments sarcastically, reciting that promotional statement of the other reality TV show we often saw at Capitol. "Who's gonna win this year? Which member of this family will get out alive?"

We both fall silent afterwards, as it dawns on us how _un-funny _that idea is.

The Quell announcement this time, according to Blight who was here on earth for the last Quell's announcement, comes way later than the last one. Someone in the rebel circle quickly coins that Snow doesn't want any district to prepare for the Quell, for whatever reason there is.

Then someone hears this leak from District Two, and all hell just breaks loose.

"_All the past Victors of Two have been doing these daily gatherings,_" they say. "_They've all been training._"

"Oh, fuck this," Johanna groans, after a few minutes of this stunned silence. "I'm so gonna train for it. At least one of us is gonna go, right?"

I give up to my emotions and pull her into this tight hug, so tight neither of us can breathe.

We start training the next day, after spreading that fair warning to all the rebel districts. Haymitch tells us, later that day, that Katniss cried when he spread that news. She believed that it was all down to her singing at Ohm's Victory Tour party.

"She's _fucking _right," Johanna says that night, as we nod off next to the still-awake, still-curious kid. "Although, think about this: The President kills Twenty Three Victors because Katniss Everdeen sung a mildly cynical song in a party. What kind of comedy we're living in here."

I think I actually laugh at that before I pass out.

When the real announcement comes, no one is really surprised anymore - except Districts Five, Nine, and Ten, I believe. One male Victor, one female Victor, from all the twelve districts, no volunteering. Whoever Snow wants in, gets in. I'm totally sure he's already planned who's gonna go in, and which is going to come out alive.

"You know what?" Johanna laughs, as soon as the screen gets dark again.

"What?" I ask her. My fists are still clenched from anger and my ears are still ringing, but I'm fully aware. I'm not lost somewhere in my mind. I'm actually feeling _alive_.

"I'm the only Victor who's sure to go in."

"Katniss," I mention to her. "Peeta. Me."

"Oh, you stupid guy," she sighs, shaking her head. "Okay, Hawthorne. Here's the thing. At Twelve, Haymitch and Maysilee and Katniss and Peeta. Here, Blight, and you, and me. Can you see the difference?"

And it hits me that she's the only _female _Victor in our district. That I can't go in and volunteer for her if she's picked. Hell, knowing Snow, I'm sure he's already had my name there. We are both going in.

It shouldn't be any surprise that the bastard isn't going to care that Jack's going to be orphaned. That he's going to have no one to protect him from things, no one to teach him how to survive. Snow wants him dead, too.

I clench my fists, again, and stand up, as something breaks in me. It's hot, it's scalding, and it leaves millions of small pieces piercing through my insides, but I've never been more free. We are so going to break free. I'm going to make this happen.

My name is Gale Hawthorne, and I want a rebellion.

**to be continued...**

* * *

**See you when I finish editing the next chapter, everyone. I'm in the middle of writing Chapter 23 now (while writing my other story, 'The Guardian'), crossing my fingers that I will be able to keep up with the weekly updates and maintain my chapter qualities.**

**Silly question - what will be better for you guys: a mid-week update or a weekend update?**


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: **Hello again. Thanks for reading, and for following, favouriting, giving kudos, subscribing, and bookmarking. Special thanks to all my reviewers: MiaBelles, jc52185, axes tridents and snares, AprilGarrett, polarpi, and CrazyAboutBooks. You are all awesome :).

Lots of Gale angst (read: rebellion spirit) here. This is his last POV chapter for a bit, so I hope I've made a good build-up for his anger. Writing this was like a rollercoaster to me, at the end I was just exhausted and terrified but happy.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: All belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

**Chapter 21**

**District Seven, The Tribute Train, and The Capitol, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

**Gale**

A call from the Victors' Welfare Committee tells us that Johanna may bring Jack to the Capitol, just so that she can spend a little more time with him before she goes into the Arena.

Needless to say, our answer is "no". Because, that's not an offer, nor a piece of kindness. It's what Johanna always calls a "slap on the face".

We live vicariously each day. Train for the games, spend time with our brothers, spend time with our son. He'll be eight months old when we'll have to leave for the Games; old enough to realize we're gone, but not old enough to actually hold any memory. That's one good thing about his age, actually: if we fail and die, he won't have any memory of it. Well, he won't have any memory of _us _too, but at least he won't spend his life reenacting the days surrounding his parents' death. He simply won't have parents.

_Fuck you, Capitol. I'll put you in your bloody place, soon._

Everyone at District Seven - the merchants, the lumberjacks, Sven's colleagues from the papermill - look at us with pity, everywhere we go. A young lady offers to marry either Sven or Rory and help raising Jack, in case Johanna doesn't win. We send Sven down to refuse that offer, in the kindest way possible. That girl's just a bit slow in the head, she's actually a _kind _person. She's no Capitol.

The days and the weeks pass in a flash, as we train and live and prepare our grand plan. In a blink of an eye, the Reaping Day arrives. And the plan we've been preparing is going pretty strong, behind The Capitol's back. We don't even let Plutarch know about this. He's gotten something else in mind that he's been sharing to Haymitch in District Twelve, but even the Old Man said that the plan's pretty botched.

"_I've told Sweetheart and Boy,_" he told us over codeword call, three or four days ago. "_Whoever of us is in, we'll go ally with yer wife - and ya if ye'r in. Either way, ye'r the Mission Captain, Old Kid. Good luck._"

Our Reaping Day goes as normal, pretty much. Waking up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, leaving for the square. The only extraordinary thing here is that we're standing in front of the stage again, instead of sitting on it. And that we have a little bugger who's sensed something's wrong and is now clinging onto his Ma for dear life.

"At this rate, I'm never gonna _bloody _get to _freaking _Capitol," Johanna jokes humorlessly, as Jack _screams his head out _at a third handover attempt to Rory. "Not without the kid, at least."

"I give up," Rory throws his hand in the air, stealing a glance at the Reaping Day crowd behind us. "The whole district now knows the kid hates me."

"Let me try," Sven offers, stepping forward. He's never one to be good with kids; he's always been youngest in any family he's been in. But now that The Reaping is five minutes away, we might as well try. If we succeed, we succeed. If we don't, well...

That can actually be a _good _rebellion plan.

"Give him to me," I tell Johanna, as the handover attempt to Sven also _failed miserably_. "There's only a fifty percent chance I'll get picked."

Old Shay, whose heart started failing the year of the 73rd Games, passed away last autumn. There's only Blight and I now in the pool of Seven's male Victors.

"Here you go," Johanna sings, pushing the _screaming _kid into my arms. Hell, kid's a weapon. I'm pretty sure we can defeat an entire Career pack of teenagers-playing-warriors just with this screeching, wailing thing. If he does it long enough, I'm sure they'll bleed from the ear and turn crazy.

"Jack," I tell him firmly, as Sven and Rory slowly back off into the crowd and leave us Victors alone inside our ropes. "Buddy, listen. I know you're upset, but we have a situation here. Keep quiet?"

Now, that sounds ridiculous. Speaking to a baby as if he's grown up or something. But, hell, that works. The kid _stops _crying.

Daaynne and the Mayor climb the stage. Reaping's starting soon.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Daaynne exclaims, after the Mayor introduced her. There's something unusual in her voice, though. She sounds a little unsure. Almost scared, even. "And may the odds..."

She trails off, as we lock eyes and she sees Jack in my arms.

"... may the odds be ever in _our _favour!"

As soon as it leaves her mouth, she steps back a bit and pales. "Our", instead of "your". Whatever she meant at the first place, she's already in trouble.

She doesn't talk as much as she usually does afterwards, opting to show the video of Peeta Mellark winning last year instead. Now that it comes back to my mind, I must admit that he actually scares me a little, at times. I don't hate him. He's one of those people who's kind and sincere you won't hate them. But, he's just... unpredictable, at times. As in, it's often impossible to know what's in his mind, and what he's going to do next. He's an amazing _actor_.

"Lord," Blight, who spent much of the 74th Games knocked out asleep in his room, whispers next to me. "That boy never tried to _win_."

"Yeah," I agree with him. "I wasn't even sure what he was trying to do."

The video ends with Peeta closing our dead tribute Michaela's eyes, and the kids from Two gored out by the mutts outside their cave. It doesn't show how he'd run out of the cave straight into the mutts and gotten his leg mangled for _no good reason._

"Ladies first!" Daaynne announces, trying to sound happy and excited though she just fails. "Johanna Mason!"

The kid turns his head at the sound of his mother's name being called. _Sweet as_. This is going to be _fucking _interesting.

I take a deep breath and count to three, as my girl - my _wife _- slips under her rope and makes her way up to the stage.

One. Two. Three.

And, yes, the kid _wails. _So loudly everyone's eyes turn to us instead. Including Johanna's, cold and calm over the storm inside her head. As I lock eyes with her, I realize something. She is, too, an amazing _actor._

I don't know if this delights or _scares _me, actually.

"Men!" Daaynne announces, shouting over the crowd's whispers and my son's _loud _wail. "Gale Hawthorne!"

_Fuck you, Capitol._

"Let me take him," Blight offers. "I'll bring him to Sven and Rory. Don't you guys worry."

"Not worried," I tell my mentor. "Just pissed."

And I slip under my rope, with my son in one arm.

Even though my eyes are fixed on the stage, on the escort, the Mayor, and my stoic, calm wife, I can feel everyone else's eyes on me. No, not on me. On Jack. The kid's stopped wailing, somehow. Maybe I'm just a lovestruck idiot, but I think it's a smart kid we have here. Since day one, Jack has never failed in _sensing _my emotions.

I walk. And walk. And walk, until I reach the bottom of the stage steps. I climb them. I turn around.

The whole district can now see us; an entire young family, on the stage.

Behind me, our Mayor gulps. I make that mental eyeroll. What a spineless guy we have here governing us. No wonder we've never gotten better, in years and years.

"Tributes," Daaynne says - _chokes _- out, "please shake hands."

I twist to my side, to see eye to eye with Johanna. She's also twisted, a ghost of a lopsided grin on her face. Looks like my little stunt with Jack is very much Johanna-approved.

"Break a leg, Hawthorne," she says, as she shakes my hand.

"You too," I reply to her. "Hawthorne."

* * *

Like that first time around, they escort me and my district partner into the Justice Building, and put us in separate room. Which is, pretty much unnecessary, for we'll have the same set of visitors anyway.

"Congratulations for making everyone look like bumbling idiots," Rory says, as he prances into the room. "You're such an asshole, Gale."

"How?" I challenge him. "The kid wanted his Ma, I was just taking him to her."

An eyeroll. Either I'm that easy to read, or my brother actually knows me.

"Jack's started screaming again," he then tells me, throwing himself onto one of the plush couches in the room. "Jo was close to screaming herself when I left her."

Jack's now with Johanna. I managed to pass him somewhere along the way. Those two need their time alone; who knows if _fucking _Capitol will still let us take him now.

"Your escort's got a call saying you guys may bring Jack, by the way," Rory then continues, answering my unasked question. "Apparently you guys made so many Capitol people cry."

Oh. So, after all, some Capitol people still have _hearts_.

"I'll tell them I'm sorry," I joke, not caring if there's any bugging microphones around. It comes out so brash and cynical I'm sure Snow'll hold it against me somehow, but I don't give a crap. "Like I said, I was just taking the kid to his Ma."

Another eyeroll. Oh, well.

"Anyway," Rory chatters on. "Just wanna say good luck. Knowing you, you'll let Jo or one of your friends live, but good luck anyway."

This _freaking _boy. He knows everything about the rebellion plan, about our plan to escape that damned Arena. And he's still talking as if I'm going to just let The Capitol drive me into a suicide.

... but then, it's a good act on his behalf. My brother is, too, an _actor_.

"Thanks," I play along, though I don't think I sound that convincing. "In case this is the last time I'll ever see you, don't burn the house down."

'Burning the house down' is a joke from our childhood. There were exactly seven times Rory nearly burned our house down; all through these stupid adventures involving Johanna and some kind of ridiculous dares.

"Can't guarantee," my last living brother grins, looking at me. "I'll try, though."

Yes, he can't guarantee. As the appointed rescue leader who'll take people out of the district on the event of Capitol's Attacks, Rory can't really stay and defend that Victor's Village house.

A knock on the door. Looks like we're getting less time than the normal fifteen minutes this year.

"Better get going before I'm dragged," says Rory, as he gets up and pulls me into a hug. "Good luck, brother."

"You too."

He leaves after that, tipping a virtual hat to the Peacekeepers on his way out. I can't help but thinking that he is the asshole, not me.

Sven comes a while later. There's not much we can discuss - without disclosing the rebellion plans - so I just tell him to take care. There is a distinct difference, though, between his hug and Rory's. Sven's hug is more... desperate.

With a pang of pain, I remember his late sister Elaine, my district partner - my Hunger Games _big sister_.

"May the odds be in our favour again this time," he says.

"May the odds be _ever_ in our favour," I reply.

They put me in a car shortly after he leaves, with my mentor Blight. Johanna and Jack are riding the other car with Daaynne; I let it be for we'll meet again on the platform. We stand on the dreary, bleak thing once we arrive there; taking in what might be our last sight of District Seven ever. It's almost like my first Games. Just almost. There's more hope in this one, and more... _fire_. I'm burning now, with something painful and foreign yet exhilarating, so much that it's impossible to stop.

"Time to go, guys," Daaynne nudges us, as the train driver pokes his head impatiently out of his compartment. "Come on."

We climb in, and the door closes behind us. Soon, we're all moving, back to The Capitol. Back to the place that will soon no longer be.

* * *

The matter of who actually got reaped in the other districts only re-enters my head once we're all comfortably settled down.

I'm now sitting on the floor of our sleeping compartment, watching Johanna playing with Jack on the mattress. She's getting him to reach up and try to stand; a bit too early, in my opinion, but it's better than too late. That's one of the parental things I can ever agree with Johanna on, I think.

"Ooh!" Johanna yips excitedly, as Jack actually manages to lift his body a little to reach the soft toy in her hand. "You smart little bugger! Wanna go to the Arena with us?"

"Johanna!" I hiss at her. "Careful what you say!"

"Two tributes, one male, one female," she reminds me, looking over her shoulder. "No spot for him, don't you realize?"

_Two tributes, one male, one female._

That bad feeling stirs in my chest again.

We are not the only Victor couple with young baby around. Somewhere, in a place close to the sea, there exists this other Victor family, with a little boy who's just learned how to run. And if all of us is right about the true purposes of this Quarter Quell, then Finnick will be the male tribute from Four. Snow will surely want Katniss to face all who matters to her, or to sit down and choose between those who matter to her.

"Who do you think is in?" I ask Johanna, now that she's brought up the subject.

"Did you just ask me to pretend the outcome of twenty two _freaking _Reaping Balls, Hawthorne?" she snaps back at me, making a gesture at her own ear. Shit. I nearly forgot that we're definitely being eavesdropped here, and that the Reaping is supposed to be _fair and random_.

"Well," I force an unnatural chuckle. "Was about to ask you to bet."

Her eyes light up at this. Shit. I've just given her an idea.

"Twenty for Cashmere," she begins, pulling out a wad of notes from her pants' pocket and slapping one on the bedside table.

"Ten for Gloss," I add to the pile.

"Five for Nuts," she adds.

"Ten for Enobaria," I respond.

"Ten for Volts."

"Fifty for Odair."

"A hundred for Cresta."

This.

It's the thing I've been wanting to know, all along.

Even Johanna is thinking that female Four is Annie Cresta.

"Next?" she nudges me, as I sit quiet there in my thoughts.

"Oh," my own voice says, somewhere in the distant. "A hundred for Mellark, I guess."

"Three hundred for Katniss," Johanna slaps a final note on top of the stack. "Any more?"

We continue making these bets between us, adding a couple more names into the pile. It's quite a fun game actually. And it doesn't matter anyway, for the money we're betting with will be _ours _anyway. Hope Snow won't pick up the fact that we're also faking our money arrangement here.

* * *

At the end of the day, I'm only losing twenty to Johanna, and she's only losing ten to me. The majority of our _informed _guesses are right.

The Reaping Recap is, in fact, a little bit boring, that I sort of nod it off with the bugger in my lap. Cashmere and Gloss from One. That aptly named idiot Brutus, and Enobaria whose teeth are altered into these metal fangs, from District Two. Beetee and Wiress - Nuts and Volts - from District Three. Finnick and a hysterical Annie from Four. Daaynne mutes the sound on the speakers the second Annie started calling for Dylan. It's just... harrowing.

I think I now know how bad that baby stunt I pulled earlier was, for the audiences.

Two of those mentors from Five we've never talked to joined the lineup. Then, those two addicts from Six, barely even aware of their name being called. Then _our _own Reaping, followed by that of that mother of three Cecelia and the old man Woof from Eight. Nine and Ten, people we don't really know... Then that kind lady Seeder and our one-handed buddy Chaff from Eleven.

"I hope it's not Peeta Mellark," Daaynne sighs out, as the screen displays District Twelve's Justice Building. "He's just so... lovely."

"And we're not," Johanna comments dryly, rolling her eyes. I don't know if she's serious or joking here. Shit.

"No, no," Daaynne quickly adds. "It's just..."

She never finishes, for Effie Trinket was reaping one of the female Victors on the screen.

"_Katniss Everdeen._"

Woot. What a big surprise.

I watch my Victor Twin making that staunch, cold stride towards the stage. She held that against the audience for a long, long time, until Trinket called another name which was Peeta Mellark.

"No," Daaynne whimpers on her seat. "Not all of you."

"Suck it up, D," Johanna chides her, patting her on the shoulder. "It's happened. Twenty four in, one out. Pick your favourite now."

Our escort looks at her. Then, something unexpected happens.

She starts crying.

For a brief moment there, I'm seriously doubting everything I've been believing so far.

* * *

The rest of the trip passes uneventfully, apart from that one time Jack _crawls _under the dining table and sits there silently, wrecking his Ma's panic nerves and mine. At the end of the day, it's Daaynne who finds him, gets him out, and hands him back to us. I can't help but feeling guilty as I look at my escort. I've always thought she's stupid and vapid and cruel like the rest of The Capitol, but there might actually be more of her than that if I'd given her the chance.

Our arrival at the station, though, is another matter. The cheers I expected never come. Instead, there are this sea of stiff, tense, colourful people, staring openly at Johanna and I as we walk hand-in-hand through the arrival hall. And at Blight, who is walking behind us carrying Jack in his arms. He is going to mend Jack as we do various stupid things Snow wants us to do, that useless parade and the trainings and the interview and everything else.

I haven't been remade for several months now, since the Victory Tour party. My prep team tsks as they see me walking in. Looks like they indeed never sees a _normal _young father from the districts fresh off placating some grumpy baby.

"Have you been sleeping at all?" one of the scolds me, as they put something over my eyes.

"You have kids?" I ask her back.

"No," she answers me.

"Well, you shouldn't, if you like your sleep," I tell her. "Six hours a night in a good day. That's all you'll get."

All of us tributes are getting our original stylists from our original Games this year - with exception of the handful of us whose stylists are gone already. Thus, it's the ignorant, skeptical stylist from my first Games who awaits me as I enter the dressing room.

"Gale!" he exclaims, pulling me into a man-hug I have no interest in participating in. "Welcome back!"

I don't answer to that, because the only kind of response I can think about is the kind Johanna always gives people. A sarcastic one.

"The President wants us all to come with fresh idea for costumes this year," he proceeds to tell me, seemingly unaware of my hostile mood. "So we sit down and designed a matching one for you and Johanna. It was so much fun, really. We've never designed a matching outfit for a husband-and-wife team..."

"That's because no such team ever existed before," I cut him in, finally unable to hold it in anymore. "Which was really lucky. Have you ever thought about killing your own wife?"

Terror. A fresh terror in his eyes. It's infuriating, but it satisfies me as well. Finally, the buffoon sees things as they are. Not as what his fucked up society always paints.

"Will... will you really kill her?" he then chirps.

Seriously. I don't know what this _fucking shit _is thinking about.

"Will you kill the only person who's kept you alive?" I ask him back. The pent-up anger hurts my chest; I find myself clenching my fists just so that I can refrain from punching this fucking freak back into sense.

_Focus, Gale. You'll need to be alive and untouched until it's time to execute the grand plan. Anger is weak. How can you be a hero when you're weak?_

"N... no," squeaks the freak. "A... anyway. Would you like to see your outfit?"

The outfit turns out to be somewhat of a non-outfit. A pair of brown pants with bark patterns, and lots of bodypainting work everywhere else. Great. I'm now a tree-man, instead of a tree. I hope they have the decency to actually _cover _Johanna's chest.

"Let's hope Four and Twelve won't outshine us," the freak chirps again, as he finishes drawing some leaves on my arm. "Everyone's adamant on showing skins, don't know about Cinna but Four's stylist were talking about nets..."

Well, without any explanation, really, I know that Finnick will definitely be naked. That's what The Capitol wants to see. I don't think I know of a single Capitolite who hasn't at one point purchased one of those raunchy yearly calendars Snow always makes him pose for.

The painting takes forever, and by the time I come out of the room to meet Johanna, most others are gone already. I must say it's a good thing, for I nearly lose my cool. She is _nearly _naked. Aside of some short skirt and a revealing top and the body-painting.

"Did you tell them you have a kid?" I snap at her, as we make our way to the barn.

"Why would I tell them something they _fucking_ know?" she snaps back. "We brought the kid to Victory Tour, you Moron."

Well, she's right. But there's no way I'm going to admit it now.

The barn is already lively with chatters when we get in. I spot District Twelve straight away. Standing next to the wall, talking to a loincloth-clad Finnick and a somewhat-dazed Annie who's wearing a bigger, slightly more dignified version of Finnick's loincloth.

"Nice lights," Johanna comments snarkily, as we join the group. Katniss and Peeta are clad in these matching bodysuits full of small lights, which I suspect will light up in some way once the parade starts. Their stylists are partial to parade sensations and costume transformations, as far as I can tell.

"Nice paint," Katniss shoots back, though the snark's obviously missing from her voice. She just sounds... glad.

And glad it is, for the next second she's pulled Johanna into a hug. These two, they are really long-lost sisters.

"Gale," she moves on to me, once she's released Johanna. "I miss you guys."

Wait. Did she just say she missed us? This is kind of unusual.

I eye Johanna as I hug my Victor Twin back. She, too, is frowning. I'm not the only one to think that Katniss is behaving really weird.

"Brainless," Johanna calls her afterwards. "Are you on drugs?"

Katniss looks on as if Jo's grown two heads.

"Do I look like a junkie?" she asks, frowning.

"No," Johanna answers her. "Might as well be on your way to be one, though. You look _high_."

She pauses for a while to eye Peeta, who's now trying to get Annie to talk with Finnick's help.

"Or you can just be high on a new drug called _Mellark_."

At this, Katniss smiles.

As in, really smiles.

Either she is either high on something, or I've gone mad and started seeing things here.

"_Tributes, to your chariots, please._"

"Showtime, my lovelies!" Finnick announces. "Let's make this... _lovely._"

Laughters, and chuckles. I find myself reverting to my usual snort, for there's no way I can laugh right now. I'm in fucking Capitol, about to go into another fucking Arena to destroy it and destroy Snow. I have a kid, whose mother is also in the Games with me and four of the few friends we have. If I'm actually happy and lighthearted right now, I must have been crazy or brainwashed.

"You wanna know something?" Johanna asks me, as we walk over to the seventh chariot - between the Morphlings from Six and Cecelia and Woof from Eight.

"Sure," I answer her. "Go on."

She tiptoes and kisses me seductively, next to my ear.

"Even painted all over like this, you're still Gorgeous."

The snort I have as a first response soon evolves into a chuckle, as I grasp her hand and let the chariot take us into our Training Days.

**Next: Katniss, Capitol, The Quarter Quell**

* * *

Thanks for reading, guys! I hope I've written an in-character yet redeemable Gale here.

I'll see you when the next one is ready, guys. I've got quite a few writing projects right now (fics and originals), so updates will be slower. Slower updates mean that the plot has more time to bake in my head, though ;).


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **Hello again. Been a while, hasn't it? :)

Thanks for everyone who is reading, following, favouriting, giving kudos, subscribing, and bookmarking. And special thanks for those of you who have reviewed/commented: purelush and CrazyAboutBooks (AO3), jc52185, axes tridents and snares, MiaBelles, EmberBelenMellark, HorseCrazy141, Nerdprincess123, and my Guest reviewer (ff).

Without further ado, let me present chapter 22. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **All are Suzanne Collins'. Just borrowing.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Capitol, Year of the 75th Hunger Games**

**Katniss**

Unlike my previous training, this one is loud, chaotic, and _exhausting_.

Perhaps it's me getting older and way wiser than I was back then. Perhaps it's these other Victor-tributes, chatting and bickering and challenging each other as if we're all kids in school playgrounds. Right now, I'm leaning on one of the Training Room's walls, watching a chaos unravel as Finnick and Johanna mock-fight each other with each other's weapons. It's perhaps a good thing that Jo isn't normally the one with the trident. The rate she's going at now, she'll kill ten innocent bystanders for each enemy she takes down.

Gale props down next to me, holding an axe which looks rather big - even for someone his size. He's been training with it the whole day, cutting up dummies and those steel training weights no one really uses. For someone who's never been a lumberjack before, he's actually doing pretty well. His tosses are somewhat weak and inaccurate, and there's always this falter on his arm after each movement, but I know I wouldn't come near him when he's with it, if I were an enemy.

"Wanna try?" he offers me the thing.

I take the thing from him and feel it in my right hand. Straight away, I notice the strain my arm muscles exert just to keep it up and not on the floor. I wince. It actually _hurts._

"Not this one, maybe," I decline, returning the thing back to him. "I'll borrow Jo's."

"You're being all weak and girly again," he teases me, a glint of something in his eyes. "What's going on with you these days?"

What's going on with me these days, really? Nothing much. Except, participating in this grand scheme to break away from the Quarter Quell Arena and start a second rebellion in Panem.

"Just... a little bit sad, I guess," I lie, since there's no way we'll be able to talk about our secret plans here, with all those trainers and those other tributes from the districts we don't trust and the many cameras and bugging microphones. "I can't stop thinking about Jack and Dylan."

That last part isn't a lie. Every time I see my friends, all I see is their little sons.

There has been quite a few occasions when it brought me close to tears. I don't normally cry that easily, but I do have a soft spot for the boys. And I've lost parents - both my parents - before, that I fully understand what the boys would face if the worst happen and we can't break away. Only one out of the twenty four could live, as Capitol defined. And I know that none of my friends, despite those self-centered charades and I-don't-care attitudes, would be able to do that to the others. I wouldn't be able, too. And Peeta definitely wouldn't. He wouldn't even entertain the idea of it. He would just walk into the pyre and let us all live.

"You think I've been able to stop?" Gale asks me, bitter and heated. "One of them is my son, the other one my godson. When you have your own kid, Catnip, you'll understand..."

He trails off at that, his hardened expression melting into this mixture of panic and realization.

"You're not... are you?"

"Not what?" I ask him back.

He sighs and turns away.

"Nevermind."

"Gale!" I find myself yelling at him. "You can't just say something like that then bail out!"

He just ignores me and walks away, back to his stupid targets.

I close my eyes and sigh. This whole hesitating-and-skirting-around thing has gone since yesterday evening, when we had the Tribute Parades. And it's not only Gale. Finnick, Johanna, all of them, actually. They all keep saying I'm not my usual self. What's going on, really? Has the months of separation finally driven a wedge between all of us, the way Snow wants it?

I don't think I've ever wanted the rebellion more than I do now.

"Brainless!" Johanna shouts at me. "Spare?"

If it's up to me, _no. _But that wasn't a question, it was a challenge. And Johanna doesn't take a no.

Slumping, I drag myself across the floor and to the weapons' station, where she is now.

"I so want to try the effing swords," she blatantly tells me, as soon as I'm there with her. "Is it really as cool as it looks? Let's see."

She picks up a sword. And looks at me expectantly, as if I'm expected to do something.

"Brainless?" she frowns.

And suddenly it dawns on me that I'm meant to pick up a sword.

"Sorry," I mutter half-heartedly, as I walk past her to get a sword. "Just feeling a little exhausted today."

At that, the playful air-slashings stop. Sword lowered down and used as a cane, Johanna places a hand on her hips and looks intently at me.

"You're really getting unfit there," she tsks, shaking her head. "Have you been doing anything at all?"

"What do you mean?" I snap at her. "I did things! I didn't just lay in my bed all day sleeping or..."

"Fucking Mellark?" she cuts in, raising an eyebrow and a smirk.

"Shut your freaking mouth up, Jo," I grumble.

Happy snorts. Looks like Johanna's up for feeding on other people's misery again.

"You're still you," she says, jabbing my playfully on my shoulder. "Now, get off that lazy excuse and help me make this bitch-fight happen."

"It's not a bitch-fight if you have a weapon, Jo," I disagree with her. "You said it has to be girl-to-girl, all slapping and hair-yanking and clawing and screaming."

"Victor bitches are different, Dear Sister," she explains, some kind of cruel mischief on her face. "We fight real fights."

Whatever, really. I drop that unimportant argument and pick up a sword from the rack, going for one looking the correct length for someone my height. That in hand, I spin around to face Johanna, my hands on the handle to match her pose.

"May the odds ever be in your favour, Brainless!" Johanna shouts. "Three... two... one!"

I did a bit of sword in my own training, and spent a little bit of time revising what I knew this morning. This fight shouldn't feel like something new, but as I dodge and leap and slash and stab, my head slowly starts spinning and ringing, until all I see is stars.

"Jo!" I manage to yell. "Jo! Time out! I'm dizzy."

She cackles, but stops nevertheless. Then, something else happens. She drops her sword and runs to my side.

"Katniss!" she hisses, shaking me. "Katniss! You right? Fuck. Did I stab you or something?"

"Huh?" I ask her. There are so many stars in my field of vision now I can't really see her face, but she doesn't sound playful or anything. She sounds serious.

"Yes or no?"

"No," I tell her. "It never touched me."

She relaxes a bit at this.

"Back to your corner," she then ushers me. "It might be the stress."

"Can't yet," I tell her. "Still dizzy."

"Shit," she mutters. "I take my words back. You're not yourself."

I shrug, for there's nothing I can say. I'm just dizzy. I can't think.

"I'll take you to the corner," she decides shortly afterwards, shaking her head. "Should've known better than to challenge you when you're being all lame like this, really."

I grunt. There's nothing else I can do.

Johanna gently picks up one of my arms, and pries off the sword from another. I relent and transfer a little bit of my weight to her, as she lifts my arm over her bent form and rests it across her shoulders. We press closer together as she uses her other arm to pull my waist in, and...

Stop on the spot, as Johanna stops abruptly.

"Brainless," she says. "Are you...?"

That question, too, trails off.

"I'll take you to the side," she decides. "Visit you later at Floor Twelve."

I spend the rest of the training sitting at the corner closest to hammock-making, where Peeta and Annie are talking and tying up hammocks. My mind zones in and out of the events of the recent days - the Tribute Parade and my failed attempt to look angry, that conversation we had on the rooftop yesterday about our Arena plans, that moment this morning when I sat with Dylan and Jack on my lap, wrangling them both as everyone else laughed...

... everyone was right. I'm weird. I'm... happy. As in, unusually happy.

"_You look happy,_" I recall Octavia's comment from yesterday. "_And more womanly. This is great!_"

Happy. More womanly.

There's something in me which makes me happy, then makes me curvy. Perhaps one first then the other.

* * *

As promised, Johanna visits me in Floor Twelve later, after the training finishes and we are released for the day. She's not alone. Annie is with her.

"How are you feeling?" Annie asks kindly, as she sits across from me and Peeta in the lounge room. It's the three of us and Haymitch inside here; Johanna and Maysilee are in the dining room, talking some random things.

"Alright," I answer. "Still tired, but I'm not dizzy anymore."

"Make sure you eat," Annie suggests with a smile. "You'll need it."

"Yeah," I agree, can't help but reciprocating her kind smile. Hopefully it doesn't come out as a scowl. "Last chance, before the Arena."

A polite laughter, and a flicker of something in the eye. Annie is, too, hiding something.

"Where's Johanna?" I ask, as I realize my Victor Sister isn't here anymore.

"She went up to the roof with Maysilee," Peeta answers.

"Didn't see them going," I mutter in a slight disbelief. I didn't even catch a glimpse of them leaving.

"It's because they went behind ya', Sweetheart," Haymitch chimes in snidely, swirling a glass of honey-colored liquor in his hand. By default, it's him and Maysilee mentoring again this year - just like what they've always done since the year after Maysilee's Games.

"Oh," I say, feeling my stomach sinking. "So everyone's hiding something from me."

Annie throws a look at Peeta, who looks back somewhat nervously. Bingo. Something is definitely fishy here.

"It's a good thing," Annie then says, patting my arms lightly. "I promise you it's a good thing."

"Or a bad one," Haymitch rains on it, cynical and mocking. "Sweetheart here doesn't think the way ya' do, Cresta."

Peeta turns away at this. Heavens. This is getting really ridiculous.

"Tell me," I demand them, rising up from my couch. "Just tell me!"

Three hands pointing upwards and tapping ears. Bugger. How could I have forgotten about the bugging microphones?

"Fine, Katniss," Peeta says, being the first to recover from the blurb. "Your friends are planning a birthday surprise for you."

"I see," I say, trying my best to cover the act on my behalf. "Well, look at me. I've just ruined it."

"That's why we weren't telling you," Peeta reminds, winking.

We try discussing something else afterwards, though I'm still pretty much not there. Finally, Johanna and Maysilee walk back into the room, having done their rooftop conversation.

"We're just discussing your... condition," Maysilee explains, as I stare at them questioningly. "It might be the air in the Training Room, it was a bit stuffy, wasn't it?"

"The same stuffy thing you breathed those years ago," I confirm her.

"That sounds like it, then," Maysilee says. She sounds almost normal - if only she wasn't too composed. "The air up there is nice; would you like to get some?"

Johanna helps at this, making gestures towards the lift then up to the sky. Apparently, I might be too stupid to understand what Maysilee means.

"Sounds good," I play along. "I'll try."

They escort me up there. Maysilee, looking composed yet jilty underneath. Johanna, the usual mask of apathy on her face, staring up at the lift ceiling. Annie, who hums to herself. All the girls, no boys. I can't help but wondering whether dizziness is a sign for those female problems I've heard people talking about.

"Okay," Johanna decides, once we're up there and on the park bench. "Let's not waste more time here. When was your last period, Brainless?"

"Why are you asking me that?" I ask her back.

She stomps the ground in despair and groans.

"Really, Brainless!" she snaps at me. "Are you that clueless?"

Period. Is she thinking that I'm having some problem _down there_?

"Alright, just so you know," I grumble, finally deciding to just let it slide. "It was..."

This is July. The May one is around my birthday, I remember it clearly as I had to change out of those white pants because they were risky. The June one...

The June one _never came._

That moment, I get where this is all heading.

"May," I gulp nervously. "Around my birthday."

"Any other thing?" Annie barges in. "Nausea? Throwing up? Feeling... tender?"

"None," I say, for there's actually none.

Except, perhaps, the last one.

"Well, my... my chest's kind of tender."

"Brainless," Johanna says warily, as if reminding me it's all true. "Your tits are huge. Don't tell me you don't notice that."

"Thought I was growing up," I mutter, attempting a sour smile. Something's screaming in my head now, delivering this crazy ring in my ears. I might be pregnant. I might be knocked up. And I'm about to go to the Quell and help with Gale and Haymitch's plan destroying the thing and the force field.

If that's true, I'm totally doomed.

"Katniss," Maysilee says, quiet and gentle yet somewhat stormy. "Have you and Peeta been using protection?"

"I think I have an implant," I say vaguely. "They put it one when I was... when I was working in Capitol, and I don't remember them taking it out."

"That damn thing doesn't last forever, Brainless," Johanna snaps impatiently. "How can you not remember those refills?"

The refills. I remember them now.

Crap. This isn't at all funny.

"Can we get it tested?" I ask them weakly.

"Depends whether you're happy to tell Dear President Snow," Johanna answers, turning her gaze up at the sky. "If you're not, there's no way I can think of."

"Let's just pretend you are now," Maysilee offers a wisdom. "There's no harm in it, if you actually aren't."

I don't know. I don't know. I don't really know.

Pulling up my legs, I curl into a ball and let everything slide, the view of summer sunset from the roof and their voices and all.

* * *

I come back to sense, eventually. A few hours later, in Peeta's arms in my bedroom in Floor Twelve.

"What do we do?" I ask him, smiling weakly for I know he won't have an answer either.

"Don't know," he says. "Can't back out now, so... go with the plan, I guess?"

"Sounds good," I tell him, drifting back out for I am exhausted. The last thing I see before I fall asleep is a flicker of something in Peeta's face - something I have never seen in _him _before.

* * *

From then on, Peeta - and everyone else - start policing me in the Training Room, leading me away from tussles and wrestling and watching what I eat at lunch. Apparently, raw fish is bad for you. Even Annie, fisherman by blood through and through, agrees. They all skip those delicious slices of sweet, raw fish in solidarity - and in disguise, as we can't really discuss the situation in front of the Careers from One and Two.

Day two passes without incidents - at least, none involving me. And so does day three, if you don't count that one time Brutus from Two 'accidentally' gives me that painful elbow on the chest while waiting in line for _camouflage_. The next day, though, is another story.

It's Private Training day.

The thing doesn't start until after lunch, so we - Peeta and I, Gale and Johanna, Finnick and Annie - spend the morning on the rooftop, enjoying the sunshine with Dylan and Jack. Oh, and the maybe-baby, if it is real.

To tell the truth, I haven't given my potential pregnancy any thought at all since that night I panicked and checked out. It might not be at all true. I remember my mother tending to these Seam women who were sure they were pregnant, even though they weren't. That kind of thing _happens._

_Heavens, please. Please let this be a false one._

"Brainless," Johanna nudges me lightly.

"Huh?" I ask her.

She rolls her eyes.

"Have you been on earth at all?" she scolds. "We're doing a round of Private Training Plans now!"

Well, I haven't been here. I didn't hear what anyone was saying, really.

"Err, okay," I take my turn. As curious as I am about their plans, I'm not going to admit my mental disappearance. "I think I'll just grab a bow and some arrows and shoot some dummies. That's what they know I'm good at."

"Boring," Johanna mock-teases, rolling her eyes - again.

"Have you thought of other things?" Gale asks. "Like, something you picked up in training. You're a brilliant archer they'll paint a red mark on your back."

"I don't think they will," Peeta points out, pensive in thoughts and flickering with _something_. "They should already know that. It won't be surprising."

"Maybe we should just all be boring," Finnick says. He looks at us all; his usually cheerful face weary and slack. I know he's worried. It's been his second nature - after _excited_ - since we first planned this Arena-break and the rebellion.

"Not without painting red marks all over our backs, Odair," Johanna chimes in warily, looking annoyed. "They'll know we'll ally; no act would cover that. If we all score shi... low, I mean low, they'll smell the fishiness right out. Especially with you and your usual gloating ways."

Finnick looks hurt. I must admit I smile, for that's actually a little bit funny. Finnick does gloat. A lot.

"Jo's right," Peeta says, giving all of us this sweeping look. "We should just be ourselves. Show them it's all normal."

_Except it's not, _I say to myself, as I eye Annie and the boys. She's babysitting this morning, following them around as Dylan runs and Jack crawls after him. Those boys can really be friends, when they're older. _No. _They're already friends.

This is how Panem's supposed to be. People from different districts, talking to each other as friends. Children from different districts, playing together.

I know I have to make it happen.

"Alright," Gale starts again, startling me from my thoughts. "So, Finnick - trident and some swords. Annie - knots and camouflage. Johanna - spears. Katniss - archery. Peeta?"

"I'll try knife-throwing," Peeta answers with a smile. Calm, steady, and composed; he's much more a tribute than any other of us is at the moment. I lean on him, just to latch on a little bit of that tranquility. My speeding heart really needs calming.

"Oh, Hell," Johanna whines. "Don't remind me of that little sadist from your Games..."

_Clove. _Her name was Clove. She was the female tribute from District Two, a true Career to the bones. One of those tributes who just gave you chills.

"Clove," Peeta says the name out loud. "At the end, the mutts still beat her."

The spirit in the air drops a bit. Before my own Games, before I started mentoring, I wouldn't have thought of mourning a sadistic Career. Young Katniss viewed them as not much more than gloating, sick fools, who relished in others' misery and did everything they could for glory. But Victor Katniss knew they all had so much more. Family, dreams, _personalities_, thoughts, fears. It all went away with the sixty-seconds and the subsequent buzzer before the bloodbaths, with hope and humanity and everything else the Capitol didn't want the districts to know

We disperse not long after Gale's turn - he's going for axes and snares - and spend the rest of the morning waiting on our own floors. There's nothing in particular I feel but a strange, fierce tranquility, but the way Peeta stays still on my side tells me something else. He knows I need his company, his strength, his reassurance.

And he's scared. Or at least, anticipant.

"What do you want for lunch?" he asks, as the lunch hour rolls in.

"Nothing," I tell him. "I'm not hungry."

"Katniss," he pleads me. "Please?"

His hand brushes my lower stomach, telling me what he's actually concerned about. It's not about me eating. It's about _the maybe-baby _eating.

And rage fills me. It feels wrong, after what my own mother did abandoning me and my sister, but I can't help it. Peeta knows I _can't _have this baby, even if it's really there. The time isn't right. We have a rebellion to run. What if we fail? What are we going to do with the kid? What if _Snow _kill it?

I know Peeta loves children. And I have no doubt that one day he'll be a really great father, but I can't. I don't want children.

At least right now.

"This is my body, Peeta," I snap at him. "I'm going to eat when I want it."

He lets out a pained sigh and closes his eyes, shaking his head.

"I'll get you some hot chocolate," he says, raising from his position on the couch. "And some orange juice. Will see if I can make you cheese buns, but there's no time for it..."

Without giving him the chance to finish, I get up and bolt into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

The lunch hour passes without him coming in, until those last minutes when we have to both get dressed. We dress in silence - mine an anger, his a sadness as I can see in his eyes. Great. The baby isn't even born, and it's already wedging its space between us.

"How dare you?" I scold it under my breath, as I use the bathroom sink to freshen my face. "How can you do this to us?"

No answer. At least, nothing that I know of. It might be crying in there. Or, it might not even at all be there.

Perhaps this is just some screw-up in my hormones. Who knows.

There's this pang of guilt though, as the weight of what I've just said to my _maybe-baby _sinks in on my shoulders. It's not doing anything to us - if it's there, of course. It never asked to be made.

It's Peeta and I who made it.

_Heavens. What's going on here? What am I gonna do?_

"Katniss?" Peeta finally breaks his silence. "We have to go now."

"Just one moment," I shout at him. My voice sounds hoarse and distant. Buzzes fill my ears, and for a moment, all I see is white. I find myself taking deep breaths to fight it.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am alive, and I am rebelling. This is too small of a thing to take me down. Whatever is there for me, I'll come out and face it.

With that in mind, I take a final look at my face, and walk out to face the world.

That little waiting room is warm with chatters, jokes, and _stupidity _when I walk in, a few steps before Peeta who insists on walking _behind _me. We're the last ones to arrive. Everyone is there, that male Victor from Five who threw all his alcohol up in the Training Room included.

"Can't wait to show them my new records with weights," Brutus, that guy from Two, boasts to his _Career pack. _"Aiming for an eleven this year."

He eyes me at that. I look back at him, before turning back to this conversation Peeta is having with Annie and Johanna about _how to cook a good meal in the Arena. _As angry at Peeta as I am now, I'd still much rather listen to his voice than engage in a staring match with Brutus.

"It's time," Gale quietly mentions, glancing at the clock. "Gloss should be called in soon."

And yes, Gloss is then called in. Followed by his sister Cashmere some fifteen minutes later, then Brutus, then Enobaria, then Beetee - _Volts _and Wiress - _Nuts_, and then... Finnick. He goes in with some hugs and some pats on the back, and a not-secret kiss from Annie. There's no one left there to kiss Annie when she goes in twenty minutes later, for once looking like the girl she'd been before that tragedy in her Games. There are hugs, though, from the four of us. With her gone in, there's now only Gale and Johanna, and Peeta and I. The four youngest tributes in the lineup this year - Gale being a couple of days younger than Annie.

We sit together, despite the obvious fact that we won't be called in right after each other, and fend off some tension-dissolving jokes Chaff from Eleven throws around. He's an ally, and he's just wanting to have fun. It's all harmless. Districts Five and Ten are another matter, though, those looks and whispers and all - but to be honest I'm more concerned about the training to pay attention. I wonder what tonight's score will be for me and my _allies_, whether or not we're going to have that red x on our back...

And there goes in the female Morphling addict from Six, which means Gale's up next.

"Bet she'll be painting in there," Johanna comments. "She's been huddling with Breadboy here since training starts, drawing stuff on him..."

Now, I know that it's only that sixty-something, half-insane addict and not someone who has Annie's serene beauty or Johanna's fierce, doe-eyed one, but it still burns. I don't know from what.

It doesn't last long, though, luckily, for Gale gets called in next. Never one to be shy and to be upstaged, Johanna wishes him good luck with this long, drawling smooch, which causes everyone but Peeta to wince.

"Good luck," I wish my Victor Twin with a hug, as the door guard looks at him impatiently.

"The odds are always in my favour, Catnip," he simply responded, burning with so much fire I feel the air ignite with us.

Then it's Johanna's turn. Then Woof and Cecelia from Eight, then District Nine - poor district Nine who's somewhat left out. The Tens wink at me - or so I think - as they each get called in, making me wondering - again - what on earth is happening. Then it's Chaff. And Seeder. And, then, Peeta.

"I'll see you later," he tells me, planting a quick kiss on my temple. "Be fine for me."

And I'm left here alone.

The first minute is alright, and so are the next four. Then the silence starts filling me, throwing me back into those dark days when all I have is myself and the little thread of sanity Capitol was hanging me by, the day before Peeta and before my friends.

If I alone am to survive this Quell, alone will really be my reality.

Or, maybe not. As everyone else's presences fade away, I start feeling someone's presence here.

It's not bright and burning. It's not cold and sad as well. It's just... itself. A tiny flickering light, warm and glowing and _innocent._ And it's in my stomach.

I think my _maybe-baby - _my baby - has just spoken to me.

"Thanks," I tell it, a few minutes later as I master my emotions. "Sorry for being so mean to you earlier."

A glow of something. A smile? I don't know. Maybe this kid is just like Peeta, being his kid through and through.

I'm not alone.

My name is called a couple of minutes later, cold and sterile in my ears. I get up, careful not to shake my stomach too much, and walk in, facing whatever it is I'll be facing.

* * *

"Katniss?"

I open my eyes, to see Peeta's blurring form hovering above me.

"Huh?"

"Time to watch the announcement."

WIth a moan, I drag myself off the bed. My perch since I came back from my Private Training session, exhausted and nauseated and dizzy. I guess this has been too long a day for me - and for this thing I've started to warm up to.

"I made you some cheese buns," Peeta tells me, placing one gently in my hand. "Hope this tastes like the usual."

It doesn't. But I eat it anyway. I'm hungry. And cheese buns are just perfect.

He gives me another one as we settle down on the lounge with the rest of Team Twelve, Cinna and Portia included. Cinna gives me this look and a pat on the back, and I smile at him. Though Cinna has explicitly resigned from The Hunger Games, Snow was adamant on having all the Victors' original stylists - who are still alive, of course - back this year. Thus it's Cinna for me, and Portia for Peeta.

"_I must say I'm not really happy to find you back here,_" I remember Cinna saying, the moment he walked into my Remake Center dressing room. "_But even so, I'll still be betting on you... if I'm allowed to._"

Those were exactly the same thing he'd said to me four years ago, just before I entered my first Arena. The thing I held onto those days in the Arena, as the Careers raged on and I felt my odds slipping away. To believe in oneself is one thing, but to know that someone else believes in you is another. That knowledge that _at least one person _believed in me kept me going.

"Here it goes," Haymitch announced, somewhat unnecessarily. "Let's see how it goes."

As usual, the announcement starts with this banter between Caesar and Claudius about 'predictions' and 'odds' and 'top seeds' and 'what happened last time'. At appropriate times, a little clip of the discussed Victor will show up - Enobaria from Two ripping someone's throat with her teeth, Finnick trapping someone in a net, Gale making a bow from some random wall decoration in that tribal house he was hiding in, Johanna throwing a hatchet at someone from her hiding spot behind a rock, Peeta walking with his alliance, a younger version of myself shooting a Career straight through his eye...

I clamp my hands on my mouth and swallow back my gag. Since my Crowning Ceremony, I've always shied away from the recordings of my Games. It reminds me of what I'd become, of the things I'd done just to go home to what was half a life. And it wasn't pretty.

_Hell._

My brain finds itself trapped in past memories, as the banter continues.

Salvation comes a couple of minutes later, with the real score announcements which distracts me. Nine and tens for the Careers from One and Two - Brutus didn't get his eleven. Six each for the nice pair from Three, then a ten for Finnick and a seven for Annie. District Five scored six and seven; the Morphlings were awarded three each. A ten for Gale, a nine for Johanna. Three for Woof and seven for Cecelia. Five each for District Nine, seven each for District Ten. Seeder's got a six, Chaff an eight.

And they gave Peeta an eleven.

_What are they doing, really?_

"That couldn't be," my boy says, in a stunned denial, as my score of nine fades from the screen. "I didn't do much. I don't even think I did them well."

"But they like ya, Boy," comments Haymitch. "Ya should've known now that it's a game of taste, not of skills."

"Haymitch-"

Our mentor lifts a hand, silencing Peeta's interruption.

"Sweetheart's coming next," he warns. "Keep yer whinge in for a while."

The room falls into silence as we all focus our eyes on the screen. There appears my training picture, slowly and dramatically against the gold background. Little by little, a big, red training score - similar to that of those other Victor tributes - materializes itself at the bottom right hand corner. Is that a ten? Or... a twelve?

They gave me _twelve_?

What extraordinary thing did I do to impress them?

"Twelve?" I heard myself whispering, unsure.

"Yes, Sweetheart," Haymitch says warily. "A twelve, out of twelve. Congratulations, famous girl. Bet the Careers will be your friends now."

I bury my face in my open hands, as the reality that I will definitely be the Career Pack's first target sinks in.

**Next - Katniss, Capitol, The Quarter Quell.**

* * *

Thanks for reading and making it here everyone. I'm not sure when the next update exactly be, because... I have five stories to write now (not kidding. There are five, including this one). Some of them are my originals, still in the YA dystopia domain. Depending on how they go, I might soon put one on fictionpress.

I hope that you'll continue enjoying A Tale of Two Districts, though. This is a story I am proud of, and to know that you are enjoying it means a lot to me.

Till we meet again!


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